


Ouroboros (Our souls move in circles)

by Sathierhe



Series: All My Lives For You [1]
Category: Mythology, The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2012, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alycia Clark, Background FBI Agent Marcus Kane, Background Lexark, Clexa, Clexa Lives!, Conspiracies, Delta Green, Eliza Lex - Freeform, Empathy, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Full Novel, Genius Madness Raven, Healing, Lincoln and Lexa - Freeform, Love Like Gravity, Love is Family, Mixed Inspiration, Monsters, Murph-turtle may be my spirit animal, Past Lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychic Bond, Queen Bee Octavia, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Superpowers, Synesthesia, Telepathy, The X-Files - Freeform, Very AU, Violence, btvs, lexark, montana, soul mates, triggers!, witch!Clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-01-27 04:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 94,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sathierhe/pseuds/Sathierhe
Summary: Love is weakness,Lexa's always known.  Dreams and the skills of past lives are nothing to brag about, not if they mean her nightmares are really prophesies.Better to be crazy.Because the alternative is shark-fanged monsters walking the Earth, pretending to be people.  They'll kill her when they find her.  Run and they'll go after anyone she cares about.Okay, fine.That only meant Lincoln, and her brother had long since escaped to the Marines.Their father's death reunites them.Come with me.  We'll start over.Linc has built a new life in Montana.  So can she.  But new places risk new attachments.  Love may doom her.And why this town?  Whyher?Across lives and centuries, they've always been destined to find each other.  This time is different.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Costia/Lexa (The 100)
Series: All My Lives For You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578670
Comments: 75
Kudos: 171





	1. An Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> First, I do NOT give permission for anyone to republish this work. This is strictly for for archiveofourown.org  
  
Second... Mind the tags. Some of the content could be triggering. Everyone's got an agenda. That said, the biggest theme throughout is Family, in all it's forms.  
  
This won't start off as Clexa. They have to (re)learn each other first. The journey will be worth it. As Costia would say (and it turned out she had a lot to say), we should all be more connected than we are.  
  
So what if...  


Late in the night, confused vertigo flooded Lexa's sleeping mind. Her body spun, weightless. Starlit sky and chaotic shadows revolved across her vision. Were those bushes? Sagebrush leapt up and shattering glass gouged her flesh. An instant later she was flying again, watching ten-thousand stars streak across the black sky. Rocks like giant's teeth crashed in and bit off her left arm. She tumbled faster, battered from all sides as the truck's cab crumpled. Pain exploded through her skull, then nothing.

Lexa opened her eyes to shag carpet. Her movements felt drunken. Her limbs were trapped. The floor rolled like a ship at sea. What had she seen? She'd been inside a car. A two-door truck. Not herself; her form had been larger, oddly proportioned. Male, with senses dulled by alcohol. She'd been flying. Falling. Crashing. 

_Titus. Dad._

His heart had stopped, said the part of her that always knew these things. It had happened. Was happening now, out by some highway. _He's dead. Oh Goddess. Dad's dead._ Lexa struggled in her bed sheet, sucked in air. It came out not in a scream, but a sob. Her ribs shook and tears stun her eyes. 

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dad, I didn't mean it. I'm sorry._ She had, though. If eyes were windows to the soul, then hers were also mirrors. Titus had grown to loathe whatever he saw. Since her birth he'd fallen from small-claims lawyer to car salesman to migrant construction worker, from ordinary cynicism to smoldering wrath. He drank to calm down, he said, and why couldn't Lexa just do as he asked? Being difficult earned whippings under his belt. He'd beaten Mom and done worse to Lincoln. Her brother, her savior. They couldn't heal like she did. But enough had been enough. Lincoln had joined the Marines to escape.

Lexa braced both hands on the carpet, one palm seeping red through a bandage where charred skin had split open. The seared nerves throbbed with each beat of her heart. The pain let her focus. It wasn't a dream. She hadn't fallen again into Anya's life, crucified in a Soviet dungeon. She didn't have to relive the Holocaust through little Maya's eyes. Not tonight.

_This is _MY_ life._ Hot tears dripped from her nose. _This is my life._ Her lungs shook with adrenaline or grief, with guilty relief. She stretched her fingers, let blood stain her sheets, and told herself _This is my pain, my body, no one else's._

Titus had just smeared himself beside the highway. 

Lexa collapsed to her side, balled up in wadded sheets beside her bed. Raw emotion quaked her bones. _I hate you. I should hate you. Come back._

He never would. Death, for everyone else, was final.

She let herself weep. For a time. _It happened. He's dead._

Sydney, her mother, hadn't come to her room. The trailer home's walls were paper thin. She'd ignore an apocalypse if allowed. And if not, they'd all found ways to cope with Lexa's nightmares. Schnapps & sleeping pills made a drink that even at eight she'd been able to choke down. Sleeper Specials kept her quiet no matter how vivid her dreams.

_Cops,_ Lexa realized. _Cops will come to tell us what happened._ That immanent knock would alter every aspect of their lives. _Mom will fall apart._

She wiped her eyes and strove to get herself under control. A few hours, she guessed. Already she'd wasted one of those sobbing like a child. In dreams her Others had endured a thousand times worse. _Suck it up, Lexa._

On unsteady legs she got to her feet. Polis' night air breezed through her open window, pleasantly cool after days of blazing sun. Her long sleep shirt warded off any chills. Still, Lexa wrapped herself in her bed sheet before moved the chair from beneath her doorknob. Silly paranoia. _I can stop doing that, now._ She padded out to the living room. The warm air froze in her chest.

Beside the old sofa that she and Mom used, Titus's easy chair squatted like a gargoyle staring into the oversize TV screen. A half-case of beers still sat beside it. After he'd stormed out, she'd picked up his crushed cans and half eaten pizza. But his chair... His favorite chair. His ghost haunted it.

Already a ghost. The memory of his eyes bored into her. His voice, raised, always harsh with disapproval. Nothing she did was enough. 

_"He left because of you, you know."_

_"No, Lincoln loved me! Some day, he'll-"_

_"Five years, Lexa! He's never called, never even sent a _postcard_. Doesn't matter what he said then, he doesn't want anything to do with you _now_. Bet he's happier getting shot at in the desert, huh?"_

He'd been asleep in his chair when she'd come home, tattoos of a misspent youth decorating his bald head and arms. The room reeked of beer. The giant screen had flickered with football scenes. Titus' last construction job had been months ago, back in June. He'd drunk away the summer. And she'd wished...

Lexa ran fingers through her hair, gulping against acid in her gut. Long braids slid over her shoulders, dangling amid her loose locks, all nut brown except for three braids. In those, red as dark as dry blood streaked from her left temple, brightening to crimson behind her shoulder. She'd asked for an undercut, too. The stubble felt strange under her fingertips, a fuzz of pale scalp beneath the tops of her ears. 

In the salon mirror, with perhaps too much shadow around her green eyes, her new look had screamed defiance. At the time that had felt daring. Titus had taken it as rebellion. _And it was._

Too many dreams of other lives had stuck in her head, some happy scenes more vivid than the horrors that ended them. She'd experienced fathers who never hurt her. Siblings who'd never abandoned her. Lovers who cherished her. Naïve, all of it. At best they were fantasies. Yet those same dreams had eroded her respect. She'd broken his rules. He'd threatened to shave her head. Of course they'd fought. 

_"Stay away from me!" _She'd brandished a kitchen knife to keep him at bay. The shock in his eyes said he'd believed she might actually use it.

_"You're cursed, ye ungrateful girl. You ruined my life!"_

_"Oh, I _wish_ I had that power." _With a slash toward the door she'd ordered, _"Get out! I want you GONE!"_

Hours ago. Only hours. 

Lexa eased into the sofa, body aching, her bare feet and spine braced against opposite arms. Springs nudged her shoulder through the padding. Though her hand throbbed where she'd flattened it on the stove, the broken-glass cuts on her back had already scabbed over. Bruises meant nothing. None of it was enough to tear her gaze from her father's chair. _It's over,_ she told herself, _it's over._

A man's low voice reached her ears, "This one?" Another replied "Nah, it's- Shit, no, it's that one. Fourteen-twenty-six, right?" "Yeah, this is it." Boots on gravel crunched toward her door. "God, I hate this part." Boards creaked as they marched up her steps. 

Lexa scrubbed her face with her bed sheet. _Act surprised._

But when the screen door creaked, all she felt was numb. One of the men knocked, hesitant at first, then harder.

"Hey, uh, anyone awake in there?"

"Rooky," hissed the other, then with authority "Mrs. Sydney Woods? This is the police. We need to talk to you."

"I swear..." Lexa heard, and sank into the cushions as her mother staggered from the bedroom. On three hours sleep, probably. She'd had a closing shift at the diner. "What's he done this time? How much is the fine?"

"There's no fine, ma'am. We-"

"Was it a fight or a DUI?" Sydney flicked on the room light. "Which station is he at? What are the charges?"

Quietly, Lexa got to her feet and went to her mother's side. The sheet dragged over their stained carpet.

The younger cop took in her bruised face, scrapes, and the red seeping around her hand with raised eyebrows. A second later she watched him make a connection to the shattered window above their kitchen table. "Shit, what happened to you?"

"She crashed her bike," Sydney snapped. "She's fine. Now where's my husband?"

"Ma'am," said the senior cop, "Your husband was in an accident."

Lexa's heart seemed to stutter. She shut her eyes and knew that the blood had drained from her mother's face. 

"What- what kind of accident?"

"He... I'm sorry to say that Titus Woods drove off the highway. The truck rolled, and- He died at the scene."

Her mother wept.

* * *

They held Titus Woods' funeral on the weekend after school began. Sydney couldn't afford a casket or even a tombstone. Instead, by a rest stop amid Idaho's fissured lava fields, all she had to offer her husband was a small gathering of people who'd known him. The eulogies were short. Sydney's two friends hadn't liked him. Lexa guessed they were only there because they'd been too slow to think up prior obligations. Even Titus's drinking buddies, the last people to see him alive, could only paraphrase the same generic platitude, "In a good mood, Titus was charming." Sydney wept as if they'd called him a saint. 

Lexa stood apart. Lost in herself, she gazed out at the blasted horizon under the scorching sun. Ashes weren't spirit or soul. Titus wasn't in the fancy urn clutched in her mother's arms. He'd never take back his final words. They'd never reconcile. He'd moved on, one way or another. This funeral was for them, the living. For her mother's sake, even though her throat felt as parched as the fiery wind drying her cheeks, she had to say something. 

Something true. 

Eyes closed, she said, "I wish things had been better between us. I hope you take something good from this life into whatever's next." Then, under her breath, "I don't hate you,... Dad." _I just don't understand._

Mom choked out her own final words and spilled Titus' ashes to the wind.

~*~

A surprise waited in the parking lot, so unexpected that Lexa froze in hope and dread. Ahead, in a dusky blue shirt and shorts, a deeply tanned man leaned against a green SUV. She squinted through the heat ripples. Was he a ghost? She'd _believed_ her brother was alive. Every time Titus insisted he was dead, she'd felt a bone-deep certainty that he was wrong. And she'd felt Titus die, so she'd have known if Lincoln died, right?

Their eyes locked. His were still as green as the evening sea. Cooler now, with a distance that hadn't been there when he'd joined the Marines, but he was unmistakably her brother. He'd shaved his head. His arms had thickened and shoulders bulked up with what had to be twenty pounds of muscle. 

Mom rushed past, crying "You came, you came, oh thank you, Lincoln." She fell into his arms. He held her stiffly, patting her back as she sobbed. 

Lexa read resignation in the curve of his lips, suppressed anger in his stance. After five years without a word, what had Mom said to bring him back? Did it matter? Obviously, he didn't want to be here. She very deliberately turned away, marching off to the craptastic little coupe Sydney had bought to replace Titus's truck. The tiny rust-bucket's roof was molten; it would be an oven inside. She'd rather stand in the sun in a black dress. 

Voices carried on the wind. Mom was freaking out over money problems. The car wouldn't last the winter. The funeral home had tricked her into an expensive urn. A bail bondsman had called claiming they owed him money. 

"I'll help," Lincoln said. After his discharge he'd settled in Montana, in a town named Terminus, three hours north of Polis on I-15. "Start over there. We'll find a way to make it work." 

Lexa raked back her sweaty hair, only for the wind to toss it back across her eyes, red streak and all. _Montana, huh? Well, anywhere but here._


	2. Starting Over

Terminus, Montana

September, 2012

Lexa snapped awake, every muscle thrumming with a need to flee. Her hands went to the juncture of her neck and shoulder to staunch the flow, but encountered only clammy skin. No blood. Then cold touched her throat and she jerked away. Her right hand held her folded knife, as always when she slept. 

Her heart still beat. No demoness had sunken its hundred shark fangs into her flesh. She hadn't bled out.

In her nightmare she'd been a resistance fighter in some Eastern Block country under Soviet control. Anya's life again. She'd been shot and captured trying to rescue her 'Little Sister'. Her limbs throbbed in memory of the tortures her jailer had inflicted, seeking the limits of her healing. For science, of course, and the future triumph of Communism. At the end of it, literal monsters had broken into the prison.

Her phone continued to chime. _If it wakes Titus..._ But it wouldn't. Couldn't. Not anymore. She silenced the alarm. Predawn light painted the folding closet doors and off-white walls in shades of indigo. She looked around at her new bedroom, in a spacious double-wide trailer. 

Her ears detected the liquid gurgle of the Beaverhead river, a dozen yards beyond her bedside wall. Nothing else. No noise of a TV left on. Her eyes darted and she strained to detect any possible threat. The chair braced under her doorknob hadn't moved. Sydney should've already left for her new job at a Village Tap gas station/minimart. Lincoln wouldn't be here for another half hour. 

The house stood empty. No danger. 

Her hands felt shaky, her breath trembled. She sat up, arms encircling her shins, and rocked herself. Her _Others_ had been louder since Titus's death. It couldn't all be stress. She'd begun to feel as if those other selves were ganging up on her, even trying to take over. 

_What a stupid idea. I'm schizophrenic or paranoid delusional. _A giggle bubbled up from her chest. _It's all in my head._

Breathing exercises helped quiet her thoughts. So did gazing out the window to her left. She'd always felt something primally soothing in watching ripples on water. Same as dancing flames, or raindrops on her bare skin, or wind in her hair. Across the river, the navy sky and purple clouds silhouetted a sparse forest of firs, maples, and cottonwoods. Gorgeous. 

Her other window looked south, at a corralled meadow and weathered red barn. At the meadow's center, two dun mares grazed on a mound of hay. Yesterday she'd offered them half a carrot each, then stood at the fence, quietly rambling about nothing and everything. At each silence they'd nudged or nickered for her to continue. So much easier than talking to people. Animals didn't care if she was crazy, only that she was kind.

Today, though, she'd be dealing with people at a new high school. A month into her junior year, in a town of only four thousand, the social cliques would be firmly entrenched. 

_Get through the day,_ Lexa ordered herself. _No public breakdowns for The New Girl._

She got moving. Last night she'd laid out slashed jeans and a turquoise shirt, tight enough to show off her muscular physique. Now she layered a threadbare gray band shirt that had once been Lincoln's. Shoes weren't an issue; she only had one pair of sneakers, black with pink highlights. 

Eye shadow and liner she applied more as armor than to highlight the jade of her eyes. Being one of the pretty girls made new schools easier in some ways, harder in others. Her face and figure made her a trophy for the jocks, a target for queen bees. What she wanted rarely seemed to matter.

Lincoln's Jeep Cherokee arrived as she finished her makeup. 

"Lexa?" 

She opened the door to find him in a red plaid flannel over jeans, a grocery bag hanging from each hand. She waved him in. He'd been the one to find this house, after all. From what she'd overheard, he was paying most of the rent, too, although he wouldn't transfer out of his apartment until the end of October. "Time to relearn each other," he'd said yesterday, while Mom and she unpacked.

He set both bags on the dining room table, muttering "This one's breakfast and this one's for your lunch, since I heard the high school doesn't have a cafeteria."

She'd encountered open campus lunch policies before. No big deal, but Mom had never made her lunches. This was weird. "Um... thanks, Linc." 

"Yeah, sure." He turned to stare out the kitchen window at the river.

Her attention dropped from his rippling back to the outlines of a subcompact pistol and saw-backed knife under his overshirt. Both were closer to the small of his back than his sides, positioned "to keep them out the way", he'd said. Out of the way for what, she wasn't sure. His other constants were the dog tags under his shirt, a deluxe watch on the inside of his left wrist, and on his right, a woven bracelet of black parachute cord.

The lunch bag held three turkey sandwiches plus fruit. _Mom must have told him how much I eat._ Which didn't fit her mother. _Unless he asked? Or remembered? _She dropped the bag into her backpack. 

Lincoln's idea of breakfast turned out to be orange juice and egg sandwiches, three for each of them. He definitely knew about her freakish metabolism. _Does he really think he can make up for abandoning me?_

They'd nearly finished when he asked "Are you doing any sports this year?"

"Not sure," she said between bites. "The school doesn't have a pool, so swimming's out." She wouldn't be caught dead in a cheerleading outfit. "Cross Country's already half over. I was thinking about Track in the spring." 

Assuming she didn't have to move again. 

She'd like to stay. Isolated, with the river outside her bedroom window, this had to be the nicest house she'd ever lived in. Three bedrooms, hers at the opposite corner from her mother, who would only hear her worst dreams. In front of the house, across the road, a rocky bluff marked the eastern foothills of the Beaverhead Mountains. She could go running in those hills and scream her frustrations at the sky with no one to hear.

"What about volleyball or basketball?" Lincoln said. "Those are big here."

She scowled at the table. "I'm not a team player." She'd had to quit two soccer teams and a volleyball team for being too aggressive, for 'anger management issues' and other bullshit. In individual sports, she only risked herself. He'd know all that if he hadn't skipped out of her life.

"Do you miss Polis?"

Lexa stared at him. Had he intentionally distracted her, the way he used to when she got overwhelmed? Once upon a time they'd been so close that she'd been able to tell him anything. So close that sometimes she'd caught flashes of his thoughts in a touch or when their eyes met. Now he always seemed closed off. 

"No," she finally said. "I'm glad to be gone." She'd been in Polis for ten months. Long enough to scare even the people she'd wanted to call friends. Long enough for Titus to earn three Drunk & Disorderly arrests, a DUI, and get fined for threatening the neighbors. Without him to cause trouble, maybe Terminus would be better. "Mom's been saying I should try to reinvent myself, which I get, except in her case it totally looks like a certain Egyptian river." 

He chuckled knowingly. For a second she felt the bond between them like he was never gone. "That why you colored your hair? Looks like you're going to war." 

To hell with their bond. She wanted to throw something at him. She clenched her fists until the urge passed. "Don't go there." 

"Hey, Lexa, I was just- Sorry." 

_He's trying,_ she told herself, and said "I wanted a new look for school. Titus... we argued. He went out and crashed on the way back." _Does that make it my fault?_

"Oh." For a moment he seemed about to add something serious, only to glance at his watch. "You about ready? We should get you there early to check in."

"Yeah." She drained her juice and grabbed her pack. 

Outside, overgrown grass muffled the crunch of gravel, grasping at their feet on the way to his Jeep. Brilliant sunshine lit the red rock bluff. 

From the driveway they turned right onto Ten Mile Road, immediately crossing a bridge over the Beaverhead River. Out his window, the river curled around a small triangular park before tagging the road side and veering north. The houses were too scattered to be called suburbs, lots too small to be farms. In one yard, rusted cars grew from tall weeds. To her right the woods gave way to a vibrantly green flood plain. In the distance, jagged mountain ridgelines surrounded the valley. Soft blue arced over it all. "Big Sky Country," Lincoln called it.

The double overpass of I-15 marked Terminus' western boundary. A minute later they stopped beside an ancient, blocky hotel to wait for a train to pass. The town's name came from the railroad, Lincoln had said. This valley had been the junction point between a line running south from Canada and another coming north from Utah. 

_End of the line from two directions. Appropriate._

Across the railroad and Montana Street, Terminus' core possessed enough vitality to feel relaxed rather than tired, partly because of the state college at the south end. The town would be cozy if she was lucky enough to find a real friend, she decided, suffocatingly limited if not. 

A moat of lush green grass surrounded the dirty white fortress of Beaverhead County High School. The square building took up the whole block, two floors of tiny windows wrapped around a central loading area. Nothing special from the outside. 

They parked at the curb in front of the main entrance. No buses in sight; she'd arrived twenty minutes early. A few students loitered outside. They all looked alike. All of European stock, all casually dressed, most in jeans and tee-shirts. Appearance wise, she'd fit in fine.

"Lexa," said Lincoln when she reached for the door handle. His eyes were unexpectedly serious. "I'll be there if you need me."

"Bullshit," she blurted. He recoiled and looked away, jaw muscles taunt. Apologize? Once, he'd been her hero. But he'd broken a similar promise the day the Marines accepted him. Should she give him one more chance? Maybe. "I'll meet you at the store after school."

Lincoln smiled weakly. "I'll be done at five."

"Good." She hopped out. _Don't look back._

She listened as the Jeep drove away.


	3. Sunshine Feels Strange

The high school didn't seem to be anything special on the inside, either. No metal detectors like in Polis, she noted. No one checked her for weapons at the door. The lobby opened to a glass wall of trophies, vaulted stairwells rising behind her on either side. Only one security guard surveyed the crowd, and he didn't even have a gun. She wandered through the school to get a feel for it, counting camera globes in halls and stairwells. There weren't many. She guessed the school had never seen violence worse than fistfights. The parents probably considered this a safe, quiet school in a safe, quiet town. Lexa reserved judgment.

She found her homeroom nearly above the main entrance, at the southwest corner of the upper floor, a Mrs. Athny Bryant's classroom. The teacher turned out to be a tall, thirty-ish woman in a gray suit, reading a thick historic romance. Lexa cleared her throat. 

Mrs. Bryant looked up, then set the novel pages-down on her desk. She stared at Lexa's colored braids for several uncomfortable seconds before breaking into a welcoming smile, which Lexa made an effort to return. "Are you Alexandra Woods?"

"Yes. I go by Lexa." She held out her paperwork. Mom and Lincoln had arranged everything by phone and email. For the other teachers, all she had to worry about was a signature slip. 

They did the usual 'mid-semester transfer' conversation, nothing new except the reason. She felt more freakish saying "My dad died in an accident" than she ever had for lying about D&D arrests or dodging Child Services investigations. Mrs. Bryant didn't pry, as she half expected. The teacher simply gave her a Modern History textbook and syllabus before sending her out to claim one of the blue lockers that lined the halls. 

Lexa returned to find the teacher talking to a curvy dishwater-blonde holding a large Jitters coffee. The girl's hair tumbled over her shoulders in a wavy, frizzy cascade, like she'd forgotten to brush it for a week or maybe played with forks in light sockets. Both turned at Lexa's approach. 

The girl tripped on the backpack at her feet. Coffee sloshed from the sipping hole in the lid, mocha-something by the scent. She caught her balance on the desk corner, slurped the dribbling coffee, and checked her floral print blouse. Realizing her audience, she offered a sheepish grin that revealed transparent braces. Her grin only widened at Lexa's hair.

Mrs. Bryant shook her head in amusement. "Alexandra, this is Costia Sinclair. I've asked her to show you around today."

"Uh, thanks." _Another teacher's pet for me to alienate._ She turned to Costia, deciding to make the best of it. "And call me Lexa." 

"Hi! Nice to meet'cha!" Costia hoisted her pack to one shoulder. She waved her coffee at the window side of the room. Lexa followed.

An Aztecan calendar hung beside the whiteboard, today's date and Aztec totems displayed in every cell. Big black X's marked every square before September 17th, today, where bold text also stated "13-_Coatl_ (Snake, day 13 of 20) and 1-_Acatl_ (Reed, 13-day bundle) of 13-_Tecpatl_ (Flint Knife, solar bundle)". Below that, a tear-away countdown calendar marked 94 days until December 21st, the Mayan calendar end-date. Second period would be about Aztecan history, she guessed.

As soon as they sat down, Costia asked "Kay, what'd'ya got?"

"Of course." Around them, other students observed her with undisguised curiosity. _Let them. Get it over with._ She read from her schedule, "I've got Algebra Two, Modern History, Computer Applications One, Phys. Ed., Physics, Ceramics, and English Comp." 

Costia peered over her shoulder. Her eyes were autumn-leaf brown, Lexa noted, almost a cinnamon orange, and her next breath contained peach scents. Lexa shut her eyes for a moment as her pulse jumped. _No, ignore it._ She savored her next breath all the same.

"So," said Costia, "we're in the same class for Algebra, History, Gym, and English. Just follow me for first and second periods and remember the Gym is across Helena Street."

"Okay." Across the room, a cluster of boys whispered while checking them out. Their eyes kept returning to Lexa's face and figure, and to Costia's chest. Costia seemed not to notice.

"You know," said the blonde, "Comp Apps is really basic stuff. I'm sure you could take something more fun if you wanted to, like Psychology or Chemistry."

"It's not basic to me. I barely understand my phone and I'm worse with computers." 

Costia winced. "One of my friends is just as bad. On the other hand my other friend Wells has Desktop Publishing the same period and all of that's in the computer lab. I'm sure he'd help if you asked."

"That'd be great. What's he look like?"

Costia raised one hand about eight inches above her head. "Yay tall, and, uh, black. He kinda stands out. He's super nice."

"Okay..." Other students filtered into the room. Several offered friendly greetings to Costia, although few really spoke to her. Costia tossed out random facts about the teachers, rambling about each. Lexa filed away the information. 

"So where'd you move from? And why Terminus?" 

Might as well grease the rumor mill before anything stranger than the truth spread. "My mom and I just moved here from Polis. My dad died, and my brother already lives here." 

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Costia sounded genuinely sympathetic. "Where does your brother live?"

"North on Highway 91," she said flatly, deciding not to correct the assumption that they'd moved in with Lincoln. Several students typed phone texts. Word would travel fast.

"Cool! There are some nice ranches up there. Does your brother have horses? I've been riding a few times but not for a while 'cause a couple years ago I got bucked off and I haven't been able to get back on since. I just feed them apples and carrots and stay back to watch. So, does he have horses?"

She gave the over-caffeinated blonde a sidelong glance. "No, he doesn't have horses." _Should I tell her about the two by my house? _

The bell rang. Lexa rushed for the door, only to realize she didn't know where the Algebra II classroom was. Costia caught up in the hall. "Follow me." She led the way around the second floor and down the east stairs. The first right from the stairwell opened to Benjamin Malackowenski's classroom. 

'Mr. Ben', as Costia dubbed him, had a linebacker's heavy build. He assigned Lexa a seat at the center of the front row, on display like a circus freak. Costia hovered for a minute, seeming concerned or perhaps protective. She sat two rows back.

Everyone noticed The New Girl. A few classmates introduced themselves, several using her colorful hair for convenient small talk. She forced a smile and said "Hi, I'm Lexa" too many times, along with quick, simple responses to the usual questions. Exhausting, even if it was what she'd intended. "I'm John," said a lanky guy with a beak of a nose, "but my friends call me Murphy." Two immaculately groomed brunettes named themselves Ontari and Octavia, then probed about people in Polis. 

Mr. Ben acknowledged her as The New Girl while taking attendance. That was it, no formal introduction. From there he launched into the math lesson, distracting her from all the watching eyes. She hadn't seen this stuff before. Had she? Frantic, Lexa skimmed earlier chapters, periodically jotting notes on today's lesson. Some of the earlier material looked familiar. At Polis's Century High, it'd seemed everyone knew about Titus's crash. The whispers and stares had been like fleas infesting her clothes. Math had been the least of her priorities. 

Given all that, _of course_ Mr. Ben followed his lecture with a pop quiz. Just for her. She plodded through it, reminding herself to inhale and exhale when the numbers tried to swap places. A steady stream of classmates passed her desk. At the end-period bell, she scribbled what she hoped were plausible answers to the last two problems and turned in the worksheet. Everyone else escaped the room while she stuffed her bag.

"Lexa," Costia said as she reached the doorway, "we gotta get back to homeroom for History."

_She waited for me?_ "Sure." 

They hurried up the stairs. In the upper floor hallway, Costia clumsily dodged other students, stumbling twice. Lexa caught her arm the second time, earning a grateful smile. Seconds later, Costia waved to a skinny boy with rimless glasses, too young to be anything but a freshman. He waved back at Costia, though his blue eyes followed Lexa. 

The Modern History classroom had already filled, leaving few unclaimed desks. Costia went to the back, circling wide around Octavia and Ontari's casually outstretched feet. Mrs. Bryant assigned Lexa a seat in the front row. She'd be on display for the duration. _Come one, come all, see The New Girl do tricks for peanuts. Typical._

Mrs. Bryant introduced her as "Alexandra Woods from Polis," then asked if she'd like to say anything. Lexa twisted in her seat to survey the class, wondering if anyone had seen Titus's crash report or obituary. 

At the door-side back corner, beside Costia, a girl sat huddled in a powder blue sweatshirt at least four sizes too big. The hem fell to the knees of her black jeans. The cuffs nearly engulfed her hands, pale fingertips revealing ragged nails. The deep hood and hair of burnt gold veiled her features, hiding all but the whiteness of her features. She held herself as motionless as an uncertain deer. Definitely not distracted. Lexa held her breath, waiting for the girl to look at her, to be curious, to show her eyes. She didn't.

_Whatever, I don't care._ Lexa addressed the room, "Call me Lexa. I... I've lived in a bunch of places, but this is my first time in Montana." Her legs bounced. _We moved a lot because my dad was an über asshat, but now he's dead and life's looking up_. Sure, that'd go over like fishing with dynamite. "Yeah, so... hi." She faced forward, resolutely ignoring the stares jabbing into her back. 

Mrs. Bryant began the day's lesson, lecturing on triggers for the Aztecan civil war in the 1830s, after which Azteca technically became the Central American Federation. She flipped through her textbook in an effort to catch up, telling herself to relax. European history she knew pretty well. She practically _remembered_ the big events. New World history she'd have to study for. The previous two sections had covered the collapse of Spanish power in the Americas after Azteca learned basic metallurgy and ship-building, then the shifts in the British Empire in the wake of United States independence. 

Predictably, one of her classmates asked about the Aztecan and countdown calendars. On December 21st the Aztec Fifth Sun would end, then the Transition to the Sixth Sun would begin. Since the current Fifth Sun was the _Ollin_, or 'Earthquake' Sun, the original Aztecs had prophesized an apocalypse of earthquakes at its end. Modern, science-informed opinions took this as 'big events will happen'. Polls from the CAF mostly agreed the _Ollin_ Transition would last for two 52-year 'calendar round' cycles, 104 years. 

One student predicted colonies on other planets by 2116. Another hoped for messages from aliens, "Like, give us back our crashed spaceship or we'll blow up your Moon." Lexa snorted and others laughed. A valiantly waving hand caught her eye, then the teacher's, and Costia enthusiastically observed that in the next century technology would completely transform civilization. "We could have robots and AIs and-"

"And World Peace!" one of the stylish brunettes cut in, Ontari or Octavia, the taller one with gray eyes. The girl frowned delicately, "But, oh, wouldn't that be a problem? If we can have world peace, then would mean... the world _isn't_ a mistake?" 

Costia pursed her lips and classmates snickered. "Ontari, that's enough," Mrs. Bryant told her. 

"Why?" whined Octavia, "What'd she do?"

Twisting in her seat, Lexa tuned out. Beyond Octavia and Ontari and Costia, that girl in the oversize sweatshirt had raised her head. Lexa swallowed hard at a glimpse of large, strikingly blue eyes accented by amber eyebrows and dense lashes. The cornsilk of her hair perfectly matched the porcelain of her heart-shaped face. Cherry-blossom lips twitched as she ducked her head, deep hood once again concealing her features.

_Wow,_ Lexa thought, blinking. Her breath shuddered out and she faced forward. _Oh, Wow._ Her skin flushed hot. Pressure pulsed in her chest like mixed laughter and sobs that she couldn't get out. Her body rocked in time with her pulse. The teacher droned on, oblivious. Classmates responded from behind and to either side. She struggled to focus, to listen, but their words were gibberish in her ears. Something about that girl felt familiar in a way that made her throat constrict. _Don't be stupid,_ she told herself, gulping, _You'd never forget a face that perfect._ But why wear a sweatshirt so baggy it might as well be a poncho? _Duh, because she's hiding._ But why hide? To avoid staring? Stalkers? 

By the time she got herself under control, arguments raged around her about the End Times and other End of the World prophesies. The period ended with Mrs. Bryant barely maintaining order.

Students filed out. Lexa rushed for the hall's open air, then waited beyond the doorway for Costia, even though she'd already spotted the computer lab a few doors clockwise. Costia's voice floated from the classroom, "...see in her aura?" _Aura? Whose aura?_ A husky voice answered, lullaby-soft and too quiet to understand. She peeked inside, saw Costia talking to the girl in the blue sweatshirt. Her chest ached as she watched. 

The girl wore naturalistic makeup, if any. Her sky blue eyes reminded Lexa of winter, of pristine snow in an Arctic wilderness. Her boyfriend would be a star athlete or aspiring valedictorian, or both. Everyone else would compete for her attention. Only in a middle-of-nowhere town would a misfit like Costia be her friend. They probably went back to kindergarten.

The two finished their conversation. Costia marched up the aisle and latched onto Lexa's wrist, dragging her from the doorway. She let go after a few steps toward the computer lab.

"Who's your friend?" Lexa asked, then tensed as her cheeks flushed. She didn't need to look back; she _felt_ the winter-touched girl following them. Listening, too.

Costia studied her with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Her sudden intensity inspired a bout of envy for the mystery girl, for the protectiveness in her eyes. Cautiously, "Her name is Clarke Griffin."

_Griffin?_ Head and wings of an eagle, body of a lion, yet 'Clarke Griffin' had kept her eyes to the ground as if raised in a cage. Lexa had to look away, biting a snarl at the profanity in that thought.

At the computer lab, seeming grateful to change the subject, Costia pointed out Wells in a flannel shirt and pressed jeans, then chirped "I've got Band. See you at Gym."

A moment later Clarke slipped into the lab. She went directly to Wells for a hug that suggested more reassurance than romance, his arms around her shoulders and chin resting lightly on her crown. When they parted he quietly asked "You alright?" Clarke murmured "Ask later," then settled at a back corner workstation. Wells sat nearby, positioned so that anyone who approached her would pass him first. 

Wells noticed Lexa watching him, rewarding her with a welcoming grin. Despite herself, she grinned back. With eyebrows raised, he pointed to a petite thirty-something redhead. Mrs. Carlin, hopefully. Lexa nodded thanks.

The teacher gave her a quick, rambling summary of the class, using terms like 'spreadsheet' and 'database' and 'excellent access'. It almost made sense until Lexa tried to decode the syllabus, partly written in Martian. The teacher lectured about using spreadsheets to do math. Neat. The basic functions made sense, but she couldn't quite imagine how to plug her Algebra II homework into the cells. After the lecture, Mrs. Carlin assigned several tasks, which everyone else seemed to understand with ease. 

Wells and two other students did something more advanced, working from a sheet of directions, periodically asking questions in Martian. Wells finished his tasks with twenty minutes to go. After that he helped other students, including Clarke. Her soft voice asked basic, precise questions. Wells's answers helped Lexa to muddle through each task.

Toward the end of the period Wells crouched beside her with his earlier grin. "Hi," he said, "I'm Wells Jaha." The hollow under his left eye showed the faded purple hues of a bruise. His nose had been broken at least once. Rough home life or playground defender? Either way, she decided that his eyes were kind.

He held out a big, calloused hand. 

She shook it, smiling again at his gentle grip, "Lexa Woods." 

"How's it going, Lexa?" He glanced at her screen. 

She tucked her hair behind her ears. Several braids fell forward. "Not great. Computers hate me." His expression stayed helpful, not at all superior or condescending, so she went on. "Costia said you're the go-to guy for help."

"Sure, no problem. Ask away."

They discussed the assignment. His answers were step-by-step practical, in plain English. She gave Mrs. Carlin the printout with minutes to spare. When she returned to her seat, Wells' eyes flicked to her hair, "That's a fierce look. Should I feel intimidated?"

Lexa winced, but, "A little?"

Wells chuckled. "Nice conversation starter, anyway."

"That was kind of the idea, before-" _before Titus_, "back in Polis."

"It's cool. Very commanding."

"Thanks." She studied his bruised eye. "Can I ask how-"

The bell sounded. Wells gave her a wink before retreating to Clarke's vicinity. Feeling dismissed, Lexa jogged to her locker to trade books for gym clothes while Wells escorted Clarke down the hall in the other direction. She couldn't spot Costia. 

_Three minutes to get to Phys. Ed. _Lexa circled to the northeast stairwell, ran outside and sprinted across the four lanes of Helena Street to the gym parking lot. 

She found everyone changing in the locker room. Costia waved happily. Something in her hair was building a tangle at her upper back. Gum? Lexa pointed it out. Seeming unsurprised, Costia glared across the room at Ontari, gossiping with several other girls. When they ignored her, Costia took a small bottle and comb to the mirrors. 

Lexa picked a corner to change.

Clarke Griffin emerged from a shower stall wearing a plain gray tee and sweatpants, loose enough to obscure but not hide an hourglass figure. Her hair fell in a thick, loose braid that trailed underneath her shirt. Her arms were startlingly white. Her expression suggested psyching herself for battle, or torture. Most of the girls glared or smirked in clear resentment.

_So she's not popular enough to suck up to_. _Interesting._

In the gym hall they gathered around a muscular black woman. Mrs. Indra's expression suggested her idea of fun would match others' descriptions of war. She gave Clarke a distracted frown before noticing Lexa. "Name?"

They did the usual introductions. "Five minutes grace to cross the street and change. If you're not on this floor by 11:21 there better be a traffic accident."

Mondays were 'current sports' days. Indra split them into four teams for volleyball, grouped alphabetically. That put Lexa on team four, Costia and Ontari on team two, and Clarke on team one. 

Lexa had met several of her teammates already, and word of The New Girl had spread. Several expressed sympathy over her dad's death. Better than Polis, but still... "Can we not talk about it?" They let it go. 

She played the first match semi-aggressively to blow off stress. No one on team three could match her. Decisive victory. She noted a few angry looks among the complements. They'd get over it, or not.

The match against team two became an easy, unfair win. Costia and two others consistently flinched from the ball, creating obvious gaps to exploit. More importantly, Lexa spotted Ontari stepping close behind Costia. Not touching, but braced for impact. Each time Costia tripped over her legs, Ontari scolded her. Definitely intentional. 

Clarke got worse treatment in the match between teams three and one. Hands grabbed at her braid, even through her shirt. Catcalls of "Snow White" and "Barbie" punctuated thinly veiled attempts to knock her down. She fell only when simultaneously tripped and body-checked. Indra seemed not to notice. Girls on both teams laughed and playfully chided Clarke for letting the other team score. She stood up with a blankly resigned expression. Play continued. 

Lexa flexed her fingers, upper lip curling. The whole thing made her blood boil. That wasn't right. No matter how uncoordinated Costia was or how much they envied Clarke, that kind of abuse was _not_ acceptable. She vented by playing all out against Costia's more competent teammates, including hard spikes at Ontari whenever she got the chance. 

Indra stopped Lexa on the way to the locker room. Even a third of the way into volleyball season, Indra swore they could use her. "Show up for practice and play like that every time, we'll make State for sure." _Yeah, right._ "I'll think about it," she lied. Not with Ontari on the team, and several others she wasn't sure she liked. She'd go too far and hurt someone. And if _she_ got hurt, healing overnight could attract the wrong sort of attention. 

Costia and Clarke had already left the locker room when she got there. Fled, most likely. The air stank of pungent, floral perfume even more than sweat. Some girl must have spilled it. Lexa quickly showered, changed, and jogged back to the main building. 

She found five other people eating bag lunches in Mrs. Bryant's room. Costia wasn't among them. Lexa ate furtively, hiding the size of her lunch. Afterward, she stared out the sunlit window and tried very hard not to think.


	4. Possiblities

Scary math filled the Physics book. When Lexa threw a ball or stick -- or, occasionally, a well-balanced knife -- she _knew_ where it would go. Putting that knowledge into numbers wouldn't click in her head, although she kept thinking it should. Throwing things was just speed and gravity, after all.

The Physics teacher, Mr. Wallace, half-sat on the edge of his desk to take roll and go over homework. A pen danced between his spidery fingers as if desperate to escape, though it never quite did. Minutes into the main lesson two boys asked about the physics of directed explosions. That got him sidetracked into war stories from the Middle East, from land mines to structural blasts. Once, he told them, a rocket had hit his base while he was in the lavatory. The pressure wave had knocked him unconscious without rupturing the unit walls. He'd come to, yanked up pants, and run outside to help.

Laughter followed, then questions. Mr. Wallace rambled into another story. 

Lexa tried to tune him out. War stories brought Anya the Huntress too close to the surface. That phantom life felt too _real_ after her dream this morning. Listening begged for a flashback. She stared at her hands, resting on the pages of her notebook. Her pen wasn't vibrating. Her hands were not shaking. It only felt that way. 

Across the room, Ontari and Octavia whispered to a pretty redhead. Side-eyed glances at Lexa told her the topic. They didn't like her "tramp hair" or "butch muscles", and tittered when Ontari called her "trailer trash". Octavia planned to call friends in Polis to learn more about her. Looking for dirt, no doubt. When they finally shifted topics, it was to rant about a guy named Finn. He'd dumped Ontari to pursue some other girl, referred to as The Witch. Ontari hissed that she'd win him back however she had to. 

_Typical queen bees_. If she tried to join them, they'd toy with her. If she crossed them, they'd try to break her. As if they could ever come close to what she'd already survived. 

"What about nukes?" a boy asked Mr. Wallace, and the topic caught Lexa off guard. "What makes the mushroom cloud?"

Lexa's heart stuttered in the clench of her chest. The light of a thousand suns seemed to burn through the window as stark shadows crawled across the whiteboard. _It's not real,_ she told herself, but knowing didn't stop it. Shutting her eyes only put her back in the _Gruppenführer_'s room, _His_ room, as the walls blew in. Her skin blistered in that light. Her eyeballs boiled. Skin bursting into flame, her body tumbled in the wreckage. She struggled to breathe. Her bones shook. _Go away, Maya. Go away. Leave me alone, you died in 1947. _She rocked herself, until, one aching breath at a time, the pressure in her chest eased. She opened her eyes. Her hands, her whole body, trembled. Sweat slicked her skin. She swallowed thickly and raised her head. 

Curious faces stared back at her. Some promptly looked away. Others showed naked sympathy or worse, _pity_. What sounds had she made? 

Mr. Wallace nodded toward the door, lips pressed in understanding. 

"Thanks," she tried to say, but no sound came out. She stood up too abruptly. Her metal stool clattered to the floor. She didn't quite bolt for the door, but God, how she wanted to, especially when Ontari muttered "Smashed white trash," and her friends giggled.

In the silence of the hall, she forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. _Air in, air out, count to ten._ Some idiot shrink had claimed that she couldn't both panic and breathe deeply at the same time. Bullshit, but it did help. Waxed floor scents filled her nose. She'd been on guard against Anya the Huntress, not her immediate predecessor, Maya the Victim. _And I get to remember both of you._ She knocked the back of her skull several times against the wall, compulsively adding, _Or I'm in desperate need of anti-psychotics._

Mr. Wallace opened the door, shut it behind him, and approached. Lexa fixed her eyes on a cluster of posters down the hall. Student council, assorted notices, a football schedule... and a rodeo club meeting? What would be the overlap between football and the rodeo club? Whatever. She had three weeks until Homecoming. Fat chance of getting asked after rumors spread about her panic attack.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about, Lexa?" asked the teacher.

She snorted. _Like you'd believe me. But..._ "My dad died last month."

"Oh," he said, taking the bait. "Well..."

"I'll be fine." She stepped around him, shoved open the door, and marched back into class. _I am ice,_ she told herself, righting her fallen stool. She sat with her back rigid, face to her notes. When class ended, she darted for the door, telling herself _Ceramics will be better._

It was. No one from Physics followed her. She recognized only Murphy, from Algebra. The Ceramics teacher looked like Mr. Clean, right down to his polished bald head, jovial face, and forearms as thick as her thighs. Novice projects were pinch and coil pots, he explained, and crushed a clay ball into a bowl to demonstrate. She could move on to the wheel after those. 

All simple stuff. She put on an apron and bound her hair with two thick scrungies. At a back table, Murphy lifted a plastic bag from what appeared to be a half-formed angel. He slicked his unruly hair with water from a bowl, drops dotting his red sports jersey. For a basketball team, she thought. He noticed her and a slow smile lit up his face. She scoffed, just a little, but the feel of him tickled her senses in familiar ways. She'd bet anything there was a 'Titus' in his household. And wouldn't it be nice to feel normal? She smiled back. 

When he waved her over, she scooped a fistful of clay and sat at the end of his table, back to the wall. One stray lock promptly draped her right eye.

"I _love_ your hair," Murphy said. "Bright colors are my kryptonite." Smoke and peppermint scented his breath.

She ought to feel flattered, she thought. She ought to want more than a friend. "Thanks," she mumbled, and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

Murphy winced, eyes darting to her clay-covered hands. Clay that now streaked her hair and ear. 

"It'll wash off." Without conscious direction, her hands began shaping a pot. "So what are you making?"

"Hawk-Man, like from the comics...?" He cocked his head, clearly not expecting her to understand. She did, though, even if she rarely actually _bought_ a comic. Titus had always called them a waste of money.

"I don't follow that one," she said, "but I've seen it." 

"Cool. What series do you like?"

She listed series, pleased when he recognized most of them. The conversation came easily. It felt normal, drifting from topic to topic. He was a senior on the basketball team, although art had always been his first love. He expected to get a scholarship to some art school, then go to Hollywood and make movie monsters. 

"That's more of a plan than I've got," she admitted, and waited for him to begin probing her life. Instead, he complemented her nearly finished pot and asked about favorite movies, which brought a grin to her lips. She bit her cheek to think, then told him. He'd seen most of the titles she named.

"Ten minutes," Mr. Clean announced. 

Lexa shot the teacher a glare of annoyance, only then realizing that she'd enjoyed Murphy's company. They covered their projects together.

"Where're you going next?" Murphy asked when class ended.

She slung her backpack across one shoulder. "Wherever English Comp is."

"Cool, I'll take you." He escorted her past a room of unfinished paintings on easels, where she nearly stumbled at a whiteboard reflection of burnt golden hair and a familiar blue sweatshirt. _Clarke?_ But an inner voice warned, _Don't,_ and she told Murphy she'd merely slipped.

Murphy wasn't as sure as he'd sounded. They looped halfway around the upper floor before stopping at a Mrs. Schreiber's room. "Dammit," he muttered, then parted with "See ya later, Lexa."

"You too," she said, mood lifting as he loped down the hall. 

She entered the classroom, smile becoming a frown at the number of students within. All two dozen of them seemed to be talking. She immediately spotted Costia and Clarke at the door-side back corner, same as in History. Octavia sat across the room, by the windows. The sole unoccupied desk stood directly in front of hers, in a row of its own. 

A frumpy woman with coke-bottle glasses -- Mrs. Schreiber, presumably -- discussed yearbook ideas with two students while searching desk drawers for some misplaced file. Her attendance list, it turned out. She didn't notice Lexa until the bell rang and everyone else quieted. "We'll talk after class," she said, and assigned her to the seat in front of Octavia. The moment Lexa sat down, she felt the queen bee's eyes boring into her back. 

Schreiber lectured about words derived from other languages. Lexa couldn't always remember how to speak the languages she remembered, but translating what she heard wasn't difficult. Reading could be tougher. If she didn't sleep well or let herself get too stressed, words started to jumble like trying to read the wrong language. A lot of the time it felt like dyslexia. Today, though, she felt okay. She decided she'd miss one in ten words on the inevitable quiz, then tuned out. 

The prickling of eyes on her back drew her attention to the rear corner. Costia flashed her a sunshine smile, seeming not the least self-conscious of her braces. Clarke's hood and hair hid her face, mechanical pencil paused above her notebook. Again, Lexa got the uncanny impression that the girl was studying her in some way. 

She faced forward. _You're being paranoid._ _Clarke wasn't even looking at you._

"That girl is so stuck up it's not even funny," Octavia muttered. 

Lexa half-turned, schooling her expression to pretend she cared about Mrs. Schreiber's lecture. She whispered over her shoulder, "Who?" 

Octavia was bowed over her notes. "Princess Barbie, obviously," she said without looking up. "She gets all kinds of special treatment and snubs her nose at us plebes. If you're smart, you'll ignore her and ditch her cultist friend."

_Costia?__ A cultist? Ask, or..._ "Whatever your beef is, O, keep it to yourself."

Octavia snorted delicately and continued writing. "Your loss, _L_."

"My _win_." _For not being a bigoted harpy._

"Miss Woods," Schreiber said sweetly, "do you have something to add?"

"Uhm..." _What was the topic?_ "No. Sorry." She tried to look innocent. The teacher gave her a longsuffering look -- comical with her bug-eye glasses -- and moved on. Class ended a few minutes later.

Mrs. Schreiber stalled her to discuss essays, assigned reading, and the syllabus she knew had to be in her desk, _somewhere_. Classmates escaped into the hall while Lexa shifted from foot to foot. Costia trailed Clarke. Octavia stalked after them.

By the time Mrs. Schreiber set her free, all three girls were out of sight. Then she rounded the corner and saw Costia up ahead, not quite pinned against the line of blue lockers by Octavia and two immaculately groomed cohorts. 

"...you _know_ she's the reason!" Octavia declared.

Costia shook her head, dirty-blond hair swirling across her shoulders. "She's _not_. She didn't do anything. Why can't you just leave her alone?"

"Because she's a freak of nature, you ditz." She noticed Lexa, "What do you want, _L_?" Her followers tittered; L for loser. Brilliant as coal.

"You're blocking my locker," Lexa said, pointing. She stopped near Costia and leaned against the blue metal, arms crossed. 

"She'd _better_ stay away from him..." Octavia warned, and with an artful toss of her hair she stalked away, wannabes in tow. 

Costia sighed dramatically and clawed her frizzy hair to one side. She turned to Lexa with a strained "Thanks." 

"Sure. What was that all about, anyway?" _Why did she call you a cultist?_

"Just stupid Octavia being her stupid bitchy self." 

"Does that happen a lot?"

She got a shrug in response as Costia angrily failed to spin the combination for her lock. Twice. _In other words, yes._ The lock finally surrendered and she stuffed one book in, moved three to her backpack. 

"I don't like bullies," Lexa said quietly. "Next time it happens, find me. I'll help." 

Costia gave her a searching look, gears turning behind her autumn eyes. Whatever she saw reassured her. "Thanks, Lexa." She closed her locker and shouldered her backpack. "See you tomorrow." 

"See you then." Lexa backtracked several paces to the actual position of her locker, mood darkening. Life would be so much simpler if she could let go and accept the world as it was. She couldn't save everyone. Maybe not anyone, given her track record. And, crazy or doomed, none of them could save _her_.

~~*~~

The stairwell door opened to bright sunlight and cool wind. She called her mother, wondering what to expect.

Sydney reported roaming town in search of a second job. She'd also arranged an extra half-shift at the Village Tap and wouldn't be home until late. "Oh," Lexa sighed, inwardly elated. No crying jags or interrogation about school tonight.

Her cell claimed 3:42 p.m. Home waited three miles away, empty anyway until Lincoln finished work. And she had sort of said she'd meet him there. _Might as well go now._

All of Terminus' state and ocean streets ran north-south, parallel to the railroad and I-15. Everything else ran east-west. She wandered south on Pacific, west on Bannack Street, heading for the intersection with Idaho. She found her brother's Jeep in a parking lot behind the line of stores. Kenny's Auto Parts was half a block south. 

Still not quite four.

Across the street a music store called to her. Or comic shop? She went inside. Music CDs stocked the shelves. Band posters covered the walls and parts of the ceiling. She listened to samples, occasionally comparing against the album lists on her MyPod. The first time she checked her cell it read 4:41. She thanked the clerk and left.

A large, hairy man greeted her at the Kenny's Auto Parts' cashier station, plaid flannel shirt tightly stretched over his pot belly. He gaped at her hair as if it were radioactive. Lexa smiled sweetly, then checked the aisles for Lincoln. She found him at a back counter, doing paperwork.

"Linc?"

"Hey Lex." He glanced at his watch. "Done in ten."

"Okay." She browsed, taking in shapes and colors without really seeing. Instead, her thoughts drifted to and skittered away from her dreams and flashbacks. Always the same set since she was little. A handful of lives spread across two centuries, scattered fragments that could go back much further. Every life had ended violently. With the lone, horrific exception of Maya in WWII, every one of those past selves had been murdered by monsters in human guise. 

_I'm not Anya or Maya. None of them were me. They're only dreams. _

"Lexa?" a voice said, standing at her side. 

She startled into a fighting stance, was half a heartbeat from jabbing his throat before she recognized her brother. He gazed back with concern. She looked away, at a rack of wrenches. She'd been staring at those wrenches for the last few minutes. No wonder he worried about her sanity. Her hands dropped. Before he left, she'd even been able to tell him about her worst dreams. 

But he'd left.

"Hey. Hey, no." His thumb brushed her cheek. 

She flinched away and swatted his hand. "Can we go now?" 

Wary again, he studied her face, then nodded.

Lincoln led her to the rear of the store, her eyes on his back. Even now he wore the pistol and knife under his shirt. They passed through a stock room, exiting to the parking lot. Warm air filled the Jeep. Several times he glanced at her as they drove, eventually asking "You need a ride tomorrow?" 

His tone said nothing of his desires. She gazed out at the passing scenery, guessing what he wanted to hear. "It's fine. I'll walk."

"Sure," he said quietly, and she couldn't tell if his voice held relief or regret. When she looked at him, his gaze remained fixed on the road, jaw muscles twitching under stubbled skin. His hands kept shifting on the steering wheel. He saw her as an obligation now. A bad habit. He'd help because that's who he was, not because he wanted to. 

They crossed the bridge and veered onto weeds and gravel. Home bitter home. As soon as she hopped out, he drove away.


	5. Twisted Metal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any X-Files or Delta Green fans out there?

Years Ago

The sun kept shining in his eyes no matter how Marcus Kane set the visor, adding to the glare of snow along the winding road. He rubbed his eyes between blinks. The sun had been nice enough at lower altitudes, passing through the Uinta Valley's pine forests and rocky canyons. The highway sway had lulled him. He felt as satisfied as could be expected with the FBI. 

He'd done his job, assisting arrests of a militia group in Wyoming and even visiting his Grandmother on the way back. She'd become quite frail. He'd stayed the night, made a few repairs and cleared leaves from the gutters. He couldn't discuss his job except in broad strokes, so over meals she asked about his divorce, about his daughter and all the strain the Counter-Terrorism Division caused. "Are you still making us safer?" she'd asked, as usual with 2012 on the horizon and wars on the news. And he'd told her, as usual, "I do what I can."

All of which, as usual, made for a late departure. And for the sunset glaring around each bend. 

Kane felt almost grateful to match pace behind a slower SUV. It, and the armored bank van just ahead, blocked the sun well enough until it sank completely behind the mountains. The van plodded, though, chugging up the switchbacks as the mountainside steepened. Treetops dropped along a near-cliff on his left while icy rocks loomed on his right. Vehicles flashed past from the other direction, lights bright. He clicked on his headlights as the first stars twinkled. The I-80 junction was an hour ahead. Salt Lake City, and home, were an hour after that. 

Or add an extra hour if the armored van didn't speed up. 

At the next switchback he got a better look. Another vehicle led the van, an SUV exactly like the one between him and the van. Dark, with tinted windows. Unmarked.

Understanding woke him up a bit. Two SUVs bookending an armored van meant a convoy. Strange that they'd chosen a minor highway, though. Not I-80 to cross the Rockies. Not an air transport, either. Could be military.

"Who are you guys?" he muttered, debating whether to run the plates at the next overlook. 

His question had dared the fates, he'd think later, because at that moment his console flashed, static crackled from his speakers, and the engine stuttered. He tapped the brakes, then slammed the petal as the SUV ahead of him swerved. Something white crashed against the left headlight. It tumbled up the windshield and over the roof. _Deer?_ Kane thought as his brakes screeched, _Cougar?_ But the shape that sailed toward his headlights was a woman, ghostly white.

She smacked his grill with a wooden thud and bounced forward, skidding over the road, body flopping into the uphill ditch. Kane's vehicle lurched to a halt and he gasped, eyes wide. His white knuckled hands felt glued to the steering wheel. _Move,_ he told himself, _get out there and help her._

Then she stood up. Battered and scraped raw, but unbroken.

And naked.

That was all he understood before she launched herself up the road, running cougar-fast after the van and SUVs.

_What... What did...?_ The thought wouldn't coalesce. So, still gaping, he floored the gas. The tires squealed, then acceleration pressed him into the seat. _What the hell?_Only habit gave him the presence of mind to toggle his dash camera. It ran continually on a closed loop, but only recorded to the hard drive when he flipped the switch. He'd have the previous two minutes plus whatever came next.

The caravan had sped up. He reached the tailing SUV shortly after she did, just in time to see it swerve as if to ram her into oncoming traffic. That plan failed completely. Running on bare feet -- _Like some kind of Terminator_ \-- she caught the SUV's back hatch (_with spider glue? claws? A tool?_) and punched straight through the rear window.

The passengers greeted her with chained bursts of automatic gunfire. Little holes sprayed dark liquid from her back and arms. Undaunted, the woman swung like a monkey to the driver's side. Her arm blurred and glass shattered. She reached in. The vehicle swerved, too hard, and began to roll as she leapt away. A fraction later it plowed into the cliff-side railing, and over.

"Oh shit, oh shit, ohshit," Agent Kane hissed, slowing, torn as he passed. But the threat was still active. Automatic weapons hadn't slowed her. He accelerated again to catch up.

The road veered hard right around a ridge and he spied the van's wide tail lights. The woman -- super zombie, killer robot, or whatever she was -- spider climbed up the armored rear doors. She clambered onto the roof as if her hands and feet could stick to sheet metal. Then forward, onto the cab. Gunfire flashed with the booms of shotgun blasts. Kane trailed as close as he dared. His headlights let him watch the woman swing onto the driver's side door. With claws, he thought, claws in the metal. She ripped the door straight off the hinges.

It bounced toward Agent Kane. Cursing, he slammed the brakes, fishtailed, and watched as his headlights glittered on frosted stone. Metal crunched and hot plastic hit him in the face. It stank like chlorine and ammonia, he thought, flailing.

_Airbag. Right. Airbag._ Shoving it down, he took stock of himself, but every limb felt swaddled in cotton. That'd be the adrenaline.

Another shriek of metal got his attention, then the louder cracks of tree trunks. With too little spit to swallow, he fumbled the Glock from its seat holster and threw open his door. 

Then practically fell out. His legs moved like rubber. He made himself slow down and actually check that nothing was broken. Inconclusive, but on the second try he was able to stand. So, with bursts of gunfire and men's shouts echoing from ahead, he snuck forward.

The shouts soon became screams, and a gravely voice that might have been a woman cursing. He came across one body, a man in full military armor, and moved on after noting a missing arm. The second SUV sat empty and idling near the crushed railing where the van had gone through. A peek over the edge revealed broken trees and the armored van's tail lights. The doors hung open. The monster crouched just inside, shadowed. Bullet wounds peppered her skin. Blood coated her like a wetsuit. 

Agent Kane rolled out of sight, shaking.

From below, with a smoky voice, the monster said, "I don't see any broken bones. How do you feel?"

A shaky voice answered "I- I told them. I said this would happen." Then "Hssss, fuck that's cold."

"Sorry."

"I told them you'd save me."

"Maybe this time they'll get the message to leave us alone. There's a guy up there who saw most of it."

_What? How?_ As quietly as possible, Kane got back to his feet.

"Yeah?" A muffled sob. "Liza, H- How are we getting out of here?" 

"I think they left us a car."

"You'll stain it."

"You're welcome, babe."

Agent Kane ran back to his wreck and hyperventilated until they left.

Later, though, with backup on the way, he checked the van. It wasn't policy. It wasn't good scene control, but he had to know. He climbed down the rocks, checked the bodies. Patches on the soldiers' armor made this an Air Force convoy. He looked into the van. In the back, beside four broken shackles, he picked up a plastic wrist band. The name meant nothing to him. The destination did, lit up on a GPS unit above the dashboard: Dugway, Utah. He'd stumbled into a Black Op.

"Really stepped in it this time," he muttered, and scampered back up to the road. He got to replay his dash cam exactly once, mouth going dry as dust with proof that he hadn't hallucinated. The Humvees arrived even before the police, unloading squads of soldiers to secure the scene. Then the wind picked up and helicopter flood lights swept the area. Two MPs packed him into a van. 

~~*~~

Merely witnessing all that he had earned him days of debriefs, months of strange dreams and psyche evals. The NDA's practically signed away his soul. PROJECT BLACK BLOOD, he was finally told, _nanotech enhancement_. Both women had to be recovered for the sake of global stability. His clearance wasn't remotely to high enough to learn details.

So he listened. He researched what he'd seen and watched for the name he that knew. Alycia Clark and 'Liza' would show up again.


	6. Skirmishes

Gears turning behind her eyes, Costia observed Lexa while sipping her coffee. Her face held undisguised curiosity along with something that might be admiration. The blonde said little, instead seeming content to listen to Lexa's brief, cautious answers to other students' questions about her background. One by one, though, her classmates accepted that Lexa wasn't keen to discuss herself. Costia would be the last to give up.

In the slight privacy of the stairwell down to Algebra II, Costia asked "Were people mean at your last school?"

"Sometimes," Lexa answered. Usually she'd been able to defend herself and the people who needed her. "Mostly, they were just oblivious or nosy." 

"Hmm," Costia said thoughtfully. 

Lexa stopped her at the landing and moved them out of the flow of traffic. "Is this about Clarke?" Costia instantly became wary. _Bull's eye._ "I don't mean any harm. It's just... That stuff in P.E. isn't right. No one should have to put up with abuse like that."

Costia searched her face. Again, Lexa could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. Finally, "Thanks for saying so. Come on." She brushed past, leading the way into class.

A glint of gold at Costia's ruffled neckline caught Lexa's attention. She got a better look in class. The girl wore a gold necklace and a sun-cross pendant, nearly engulfed by her cleavage. The sun-cross -- a four-spoked wheel, -- was the One Light icon. That made Costia a neo-Gnostic, so she saw the universe as fundamentally flawed. It hadn't been created by God, the 'One Light', or not entirely. Instead something called the Demiurge, the Half-Maker, had taken over. That put context to Costia's question and Ontari & Octavia's behavior. One Light had been labeled heresy as soon as it began, back in the 1600s. 

It almost certainly meant Costia believed in reincarnation.

_I'm not even gonna ask,_ Lexa decided. The topic would be as sensitive for Costia as Judaism in Germany. Maybe as sensitive as Maya's life was for Lexa. Best not to bring it up.

On their way back up the stairs again, Lexa picked a more important topic, asking "Why does Clarke get so much flack. Is it jealousy?"

"I dunno why it happens," Costia answered as they pushed into the hall. "Ontari thinks her boyfriend broke up with her 'cause of Clarke and that's why she and Octavia are extra bitchy."

_So... Clarke is Ontari's 'Witch'?_ "That explains a lot."

Somewhere ahead a whistle blew, very high pitched, very loud. The sound pierced Lexa's skull like ice picks. She staggered and clapped her hands over her ears. 

Then it stopped. She leaned against the left wall. Costia looked back at her with worried autumn eyes. Though she was speaking, her words made no sense. Passing students shot them concerned looks and asked gibberish questions. Costia's own gibberish sent them on their way. Lexa shook her head. The ice picks withdrew.

"What was that?" Costia asked.

"Don't worry, I'm fine now." She pushed away from the wall and continued toward Modern History. _Why would someone bring a dog whistle to school?_

Costia kept pace beside her, "Kay, great, but what happened?"

Had it been a teacher or a student? Either way, she failed to spot the guilty party in the classrooms they passed. Offhand, she said "Don't ask. I'm _fine_." 

The blonde pursed her lips as if, somehow, she knew exactly what had happened. At the doorway to Mrs. Bryant's room Costia hesitated and touched her shoulder.

Lexa softened, "Really, Cos, I'm okay."

"If you say so..." 

After class, Lexa hovered by the door with half a thought to wait for Costia, to maybe wait for Clarke. Just in case. Because her skin itched with thoughts of magnets, of side eyes and impressions of flickering color. The front row gave her a strange view, having to twist in her seat to see whoever Mrs. Bryant called on. Too many other eyes had darted to Clarke, even with her head down, hood up, tucked into the back corner with Costia. Hiding.

"That girl is a _witch_," someone hissed into her ear. Lexa whirled to find Ontari glaring daggers at the girl. "Trust me," she continued, "you do _not_ want to get mixed up with the Princess or her loser friends."

Lexa fought to suppress a snarl at Ontari's face so close to hers, at sweet scents of conditioner and lotions. The girl presumed too much. "Walk away."

Ontari's smirk faltered. "What?"

Lexa drew herself up, chin lifting. "Turn around, and walk away."

"Or what?"

Without an ounce of fear, Lexa let a smile curl on her lips. Her eyes, she'd heard, never failed to make an impression at times like these.

Ontari stepped back. "Are you crazy?"

Still smiling, Lexa shrugged. "It's been said."

Gray eyes narrowed to predatory slits. Ontari scanned Lexa's thrift store outfit: threadbare band tee over a gray tank-top, slashed jeans, and her old (comfortable) sneakers. "Alright you trailer-trash tramp-"

"No." Lexa advanced into her space, nostrils flaring. "That isn't how this goes." Ontari stood several inches taller, flushed with indignation. Lexa glared up into her pretty gray eyes and whisper-growled, "I do not care what you think of my clothes, or where I live, or how much money I have. _You do not matter to me_." 

Ontari's indignant shock transmuted to anger. Lexa watched her for signs of an incoming slap. Her right arm twitched. "You're going to wish you never came here."

"My wishes don't matter. But your expression now? Priceless." Lexa heard snickering behind her. _An audience, wonderful._

The queen bee let out a furious gasp, jaw working. Her fingers flexed as if her manicured nails were claws. Lexa answered by leaning closer. "Try it. See what happens."

Ontari retreated two steps, unsteadily spun on her heels, and stormed down the hall. Other students flinched from her path as if zapped by lightning bolts from her eyes.

Lexa stared after, feeling herself deflate. That may have been a mistake, but _Oh, Goddess,_ it felt like justice. She psyched herself to face her audience, turning to find a handful of classmates. Most of them gaped. Two girls clapped several times. After a long moment they scattered for other classes. 

"Brave but dumb," Clarke murmured as she passed. 

The words dashed icewater on her ego. Lexa whispered at her back, "I was trying to help."

Stepping up beside her, Costia answered "I know. She'll come around. Clarke takes a while to warm up to people. But you better watch out 'cause the Double Oh No's are _sooo_ gonna have it in for you now."

"It's fine," Lexa said absently. "I've met worse." Ahead, Clarke entered the computer lab and passed from sight. Lexa faced Costia, "Maybe I can draw some fire away from you two."

Costia winced, "I don't think it really works that way, but... be careful, kay? And thanks for trying. Really. I'll see you at Gym, I've got Band."

"Have fun," Lexa said, and Costia hurried off.

~~*~~

Lexa's mother shared news over a deluxe pizza. She'd found a second job, waitressing at the Longhorn Bar & Grill, beginning tomorrow evening. She'd be at the Longhorn for afternoons and evenings, plus third shift at the Village Tap minimart/gas station/casino. Most of the time she'd be gone before Lexa got home.

"But enough about me," Sydney said, "how's your week going, Sweetheart? Are your classes okay? Make any new friends? Meet any nice boys?"

_Get it over with._ "Exhausting and kind of weird, yes, maybe, and no one special." At least the pizza tasted pretty damn good, from a local place Lincoln had recommended. He'd turned down their invitation on grounds that he needed time alone. Apparently he hadn't had enough before they got here.

"Not even a little bit special?"

The question brought a flash of Costia's cinnamon eyes, her wild hair and berry scents. Lexa swallowed hard. "Not yet."

"Then what about 'kind of weird'? Were you drinking?" 

"Of course not. There's this girl, and, um, some people seem to think she's a witch?" 

Sydney rested her chin on her linked fingers, innocently smiling. "A witch? Really?"

Her knees began to bounce. Sydney wouldn't stop digging until she thought she knew the whole story. She'd dig up all the local gossip about Clarke and maybe Costia. Most likely what she heard would be rumors from the likes of Ontari and Octavia. Soon Lexa herself could be in those rumors. 

Reluctantly, she summarized the situation with Costia, Clarke, Ontari, and Octavia, omitting details to bias Sydney against the queen bees. Seeing the intrigued sparkle in her mother's eyes didn't help her mood. Discussing Clarke felt like a breach of privacy. As if she'd betrayed her best friend's confidence. 

Which was utterly moronic. She'd met Clarke on _Monday_. The girl hadn't so much as met her eyes and probably didn't like her. She didn't owe her a thing. Regardless, the knots in her stomach insisted that she didn't deserve to enjoy her pizza. She tossed her slice back into the box. Maybe later it wouldn't taste like soggy Saltines.

"I worry about you, you know. People trust you. You could make friends so easily if you'd just stop pushing everyone away. Let someone in. Start over." 

They'd begun this conversation in second grade. The 'Please no fighting this year' lecture usually came next. It was exhausting. "Mom, I've been 'starting over' since forever. I can't remember _ever_ spending a year at one school."

"Sweetheart, no, that was different, we had to-"

"Because of him." Lexa sat back. "Because of _Titus_."

Sydney's eyes glistened. Her chin began to quiver. She raked back her hair. Soon she'd hide behind her hands and start the waterworks. 

"Mom, stop it," Lexa said, fed up at feeling guilty over far too many things. She had literally lifetimes of guilt from her dreams alone. Plenty of shame, too. "We're better off without him."

Mom blinked twice before bursting into tears. She hid her face in her hands, wedding rings flashing under the dining area lights. Her shoulders shook as sniffles escalated to sobs. She could keep this up for hours.

Lexa rubbed at her temples, thinking _Merde, scheisse, and crap._ She made herself reach out and gently squeeze her mother's arm. "One more time, right?"

Sydney's head popped up, snot dripping, cheeks streaked with mascara. "He was your _father_! He _loved_ you, Alexandra. Why can't you see that?"

Lexa jerked to her feet. "Because I didn't feel it. Because the _last_ thing he said to me is that I am _cursed_."

"That's not true!"

"How would _you_ know? You weren't there!"

"I did everything I could!" Sydney blew her nose on a paper napkin, pleading "Sweetheart, your father was depressed. He needed us to break through his walls and show we loved him no matter what."

"Then I failed. Better luck next life."

"Your father is in Heaven now!"

Lexa scoffed, fingers curling into fists. "If you believe _that_..." _I can't be in a universe where he gets rewarded._

She bolted from the house, was practically flying by the time her sneakers touched pavement. The air felt cool but not cold in her chest, perfect for running. Starlight lit the road as it snaked northwest, into the hills, and the rising gibbous moon cast her shadow far ahead of her. She pushed hard, frustration fueling her legs. Terminus' glow faded. Grass- and sagebrush-covered slopes surrounded her. Two miles and under ten minutes later, the road still climbing, she saw flat scrubland ahead. Free range pasture, given the barbed wire fences to either side of the road. She bounced into a handspring somersault from a fence post, staggering at the uneven dirt she landed on, and raced along the rolling peaks and valleys. 

She'd gotten faster in the last month, as if Titus's death had triggered changes in her body as well as her dreams. Whatever the cause, the burn in her muscles and ache of her lungs sedated her thoughts. Out here, far from prying eyes, all that mattered was the motion of her limbs.


	7. Eyes of Blue

Murphy made only the barest effort to cover his notebook while Mr. Ben lectured. He kept his head down, right hand cupped around the page, left arm hiding his project from the other side. It wasn't math notes. The motions of his pencil suggested a sketch, and the way his eyes kept darting to her suggested Lexa as his muse. She ignored him, focused on the equations Mr. Ben wrote across the whiteboard. The teacher called on him just once, for a problem where even Lexa knew the answer. "Forty-two," Murphy grumbled without looking up, "but who cares? I'm never gonna need this stuff."

That got a pained look from Mr. Ben, a brief lecture on the value of math for adults, and class went on. Murphy kept drawing. Mr. Ben drew a frustrated breath through his nose and let him be. Lexa shook her head, brows creased as anxiety crawled in her stomach. Not for tomorrow's test, not this time. She might need a study friend to catch up -- Costia, maybe, with her bright eyes -- but math was a constant. It didn't change with the language or the life. Schools now just went _further_ than her Others had learned. 

Murphy, though... Portraits meant interest. That sort of interest from guys always meant awkward questions. Questions where honest answers got responses like 'Give me a chance,' or 'Nah, you're too pretty to be like that,' or 'You just haven't met the right guy,' or worse, the slurs or the leering speculation. None of which she had the least desire to go through _again_.

So Lexa fled the moment the bell rang.

Classes dragged on. Costia watched her, in every class they shared -- except, sometimes when Lexa glanced back, Costia'd blush and look away. Clarke... didn't. Although Lexa had rarely felt so scrutinized by a lack of scrutiny. Or whatever. She ever couldn't catch the other girl's gaze because Clarke never seemed to actually _look_ at her. A paused pen, maybe, head down and hood up, knees bouncing and tension in her shoulders, but eyes clearly directed at her textbook. Still, being around the blonde felt _weird_, an electric tingle running under Lexa's skin. Eyes on her back or not, drip acid on her hands in a KGB interrogation room and she'd still have sworn that Clarke's attention was lasered on her 'aura'. Or whatever. _Just because I'm crazy doesn't mean I'm wrong._

Mrs. Indra took them to the weight room for P.E. Lexa used the opportunity to blow off steam with a bit of real exertion, unhesitatingly picking weights from the rack and claiming a bench as Indra began her spiel. Lifting them made her arms and shoulders burn in the nicest way. Lexa breathed through it, smiled back at Costia's impressed expression. Indra made them cycle every few minutes. Costia whined and grumbled, setting every machine to the minimum, though her eyes gravitated to Lexa with a shy smile. At the leg press machine, with that same smile in mind, Lexa realized she might've set the weight a bit high. Not more than she could handle, not an unsafe stack on the pulley, but... With her legs nearly straight for the eleventh press, a glance around the room counted too many wide eyes. _Oops,_ she thought, mentally reviewing. Every girl after her had reset the machine she'd used. To half? Or close to half.

And Lexa'd barely broken a sweat.

She shook her head at herself, cringing, only to decide, _Then I'll own it._ She made a bit of a show of wiping her forehead, of wincing at the sweat of her pits and straining against the slight burn of her muscles. Made sure that Ontari got a look at her and understood, _You cannot match me,_ and when Indra called time, quickly showered behind the curtain and tried her best to project confidence as she pulled on underwear beneath her towel. Costia's cheeks flushed pink, she noted, and as usual Clarke avoided so much as looking her direction. Ontari only scowled. But not directly, not to her face. Lexa let her towel drop, flexing just a little as she shrugged into her bra, announcing to Ontari and her clones, _I will not be intimidated._ It took their attention off Costia and Clarke, though, which felt like a win. She figured she'd gotten that much right.

Or not. In Physics Ontari's beady eyes promised retribution. In little hisses of French and English the queen bee told Octavia that Lexa'd been "showing off" in gym, ranting for what sounded like a third or tenth time about their Tuesday confrontation. "Then we mess her up," said Octavia in basic French, and went on to suggest a fake MyLife account. Lexa fought her face against a smirk or laughter. She'd never cared for social media. Didn't know how, didn't want to. Accounts on 'MyLife' or its ilk had never felt like anything but an advertisement for monsters to find her. 

_You're both fools,_ Lexa thought at them, imagining, for a moment, what kind of BS they might write in a fake account. _It won't be me. It won't even sound like me._ Somehow, though, in every life she'd dreamt, in great cities or the Siberian wastes, the demons had always found her. Audra had always found her. At that thought Lexa looked away, swallowed thickly and focused on her hands, on breathing past the earthquake tremble of her bones. _They aren't real. The demons aren't real. Audra isn't real._

_But what if-_

Lexa shook the worry away. Forced herself to sit still, to not fidget too obviously, to take notes. Tomorrow's Physics test would be worse than Algebra. Focus on that.

When the bell rang she quickly packed her bag, then slowed. _Murphy._ She prayed Murphy hadn't yet finished his sketch, that she'd have at least until tomorrow to decide whether to lie or reveal her truth. Lie and she'd have to fake some kind of interest. Truth and she'd bet that the whole school would hear by Monday.

_Either way I'm doomed._ Lips pursed, she trudged out.

In the short distance from classroom to stairwell her heartbeat seemed to triple. Sweat prickled her skin and her left wrist heated, as if under a hot hand's grip. _Hey! No!_ echoed in her head and instinct seemed to take hold. Lexa's legs sped up. _Wait, stop,_ and her body threw itself at the stairwell doors, past two surprised guys, then downward, skipping several steps at a time. The railing coasted under her palm. Seizing it, she swung round at the landing. _No, let go of me!_ Then a male voice seemed to mumble in her ears, a low reply that didn't quite resolve into words. The tone felt imploring, coercive. Not a voice to accept rejection. Lexa swung around the ground floor landing, feet seeming to fly over the steps, then down toward the basement.

"Babe," her own ears heard that same subtle demand, "come on. I can't stop thinking 'bout you."

"Then you and _Pike_ shouldn't have jumped- mmph!"

Red tinged Lexa's vision and she hopped the rail to the basement floor. Knees flexing, fingertips tapping cold concrete, her eyes registered broad shoulders and long brown hair in the hollow under the stairs. The guy had a hand braced at the wall, waist level, his head bent for a kiss from the girl he'd cornered. Lexa felt her cheeks pull in a snarl, heard herself screaming "She said NO!" and charged, launching a straight kick to the guy's left hip.

It landed a fraction of a second after the cornered girl's knee rammed up between his legs.

The guy slapped the back wall, side on, pressed his knees together, and crumpled.

Lexa stared down at the guy for a long moment, watching him clutch his family jewels and whimper, before a blur of powder blue in her peripheral vision reminded her to check who she'd rescued. Her eyes locked onto a familiar oversize sweatshirt, a veiled hourglass shape that rushed for the stairwell exit.

"Clarke?"

The girl paused in the doorway, hooded head rising as she hissed "I didn't ask for your help, Lex-" 

Their eyes met. Clarke's widened and her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her hand moved over her heart and paused, uncertain. The air around her blazed sapphire, sparked with amethyst and emerald, an aurora above the arctic ice. It glowed more intensely than all the stairwell and hallway lights combined, and Lexa felt her own breath escape like a hand squeezing her heart. That blazing color felt familiar, achingly so, reassuring as the safe homes she'd dreamed of. 

Lexa smelled conifers, a whole forest of them. Icy wind, herbs steeping, campfire smoke. Treetop moonbeams sparkled in an icy fog, and the snow was a dull, gray blanket. A girl's soft voice made up names for invented constellations while she listened. Her heart beat slow and peacefully. 

Clarke ducked around the corner. 

The world crashed in. Several more students rushed past. Waxed floors and the stench of cigarettes & pot replaced forest scents. Fluorescent lights washed out the moonbeams. Lexa sagged against the wall, suddenly as drained as if she'd run ten miles on an empty stomach. She felt shaky, raised her hands and watched them tremble. Her body seemed to vibrate with it. _I'm having an earthquake. A soulquake._ A giggle escaped her lips, instantly muffled by her hand to her mouth. Her chest shook with an urge to laugh, or sob. _Ignore it, forget it, move on._ She'd be fine.

When the bell rang again she told herself _Breathe, Lex, breathe_, and did, until her head cleared_._ Time for Ceramics. _Time for Murphy._ She lurched out of the stairwell and swung a right, regaining strength as she blew into the Ceramics room, thinking _Fuck, what just happened?_

Swallowing, she dropped her pack at her usual spot and claimed her coil pot, pulled off the plastic bag and sat down. The pot was done, practically, ready to be fired as soon as it dried. The scroll-work just killed time. She picked a scoring tool as Murphy grunted "Hey Lexa..."

"Hey Murphy," she returned, ignoring the tension in his tone. "How's Hawkman going?" The wings on his project looked a bit wilted to her. Its legs were still barely better than outlines on a pillar.

"It's, uh, it's going." He took up a tool of his own, but pinched and picked with his fingernails instead. "So, you seen the new Batwoman?"

"Nope. Haven't found the comic shop."

"Oh, well, there's one in Butte."

Lexa frowned, "That's north of here, right?"

"Bout an hour, yeah. I'll take ya some time, if you want?"

"Sure. Um, whenever." 

"Cool, so anyway, New 52 actually made Batwoman _gay_, like with a girlfriend and everything. Can you believe it?"

Lexa met his gaze, blinking. "Um. What?"

"I know, right? Crazy new world. Anyway, the plot starts out with this crime spree in Gotham, and Batman's been MIA for like, a decade, and..."

Murphy droned on as her gaze dropped to her project, her pointless clay pot. Her attention frayed, vision fuzzing at the edges, and her breath sounded very loud in her ears. She summoned barely enough focus to keep Murphy talking, though she guessed he sensed her distraction. The world had shifted under her feet. Not the comic, or not only the comic. She couldn't tell what Murphy actually thought about the character shift. He didn't sound offended, at least, or grossed out.

_I'm going to let it go,_ she decided, and when he lost steam, asked "What else did you find at the store?"

"Eh, the usual." Hawkman #117 had disappointed him, Psi-Patrol #33 lit him up like Christmas, and he'd found a new Sci-Fi series called The Hundred, about a bunch of kids sent though a multiverse portal by some Fascist empire. She didn't have to prod much to keep him talking. Leading him on a bit, maybe, but the conversation kept him distracted until the end of class. They'd bagged and stored their projects on the rack before he remembered "Oh, I made you something!"

_Dammit._ Lexa made herself smile as he pulled a sheet from his notebook. Suddenly bashful, he offered it to her. With crude lines and colored pens, he'd captured the essence of her typically intent math face. In it, she saw a pretty but ordinary girl with punk hair. He'd made her look _cute_. Like Costia was cute. At the bottom of the page, in big, sloppy letters, he'd scrawled "John Murphy" and his phone number. An offer. A choice.

She shut her eyes for a moment, to think, and flashed instead to Clarke's eyes, blue as glaciers. To her aura, or whatever she'd seen, flaring so brilliantly around her. Her body thrummed with the memory. Her very cells seemed to hum. _What is this?_It felt, a little, like the certainty of her brother for all those years apart; definitely alive, if far away. A link, maybe, whether she wanted it or not. _Clarke, what is this?_

Lexa swallowed past a lump in her chest, looked up at Murphy. "Thank you, Murphy." And a decision, if only for the moment. "I really like it."

"Awesome," he said. His whole body sighed in relief. They chatted as she tucked the drawing into her bag, then he escorted her upstairs.

In English, though, her focus shifted at Costia's bright smile. Clarke sat in the back corner, as usual, having presumably either hurried upstairs or taken a different path from her basement art class. She never raised her head as Lexa took her seat. No acknowledgement, not a glance. Nothing. Just Costia's warmth.

Lexa smiled in return, then faced forward as Mrs Schreiber called for order. Still, refusing to look didn't stop her awareness of Clarke. It didn't weaken the certainty that the blonde was observing her with senses other than sight. The sensation should have been eerie, but it didn't feel the least bit threatening. She sensed only wary interest, asking _Who are you, Lexa Woods?_


	8. Blown Glass Cuts

_Fire seared her bare legs, flared cherry bright as her hair caught. The flames climbed her chest in an instant, incandescent heat on her breasts and then on her head, blossomed like a crown, and she howled. She watched herself burn. Chains bound her to the ancient linden from broken wrists to shattered ankles. The scent of her own burning flesh invaded her nose, joining the acrid smoke of her long flaxen hair. She watched blackened skin split, straining fingers curl and crumble to ash. Hoarse keening outlasted the charring of her lungs and the rupture of her eardrums. Through it all was agony, endless writhing torment, looped and amplified beyond anything she'd ever felt, ever imagined. Her heart spasmed, stopped. Her brain sizzled until steam burst from her ears, her nose, her very eyes. Still the anguish continued, reverberating through her body, searing into her soul._

_Through it all, encircling her beyond the inferno's worst heat, mercenaries watched. Their leaders stood closer, inhuman. As she died their king stepped forward with a torch. "Reap what you have sown," he spat, and set her ablaze once more. _

_Screaming filled her ears. Behind the flames she saw shades of gray... a ceiling, walls. She heard wooden pounding and a woman's voice calling a name. Her name._

"...a dream, Alexandra! Wake up! It's only a dream!"

She resisted the vision, attempting to anchor on her mother's voice and the room around her. Her screams trailed into fearful whimpers. The pain gave way to shivers so violent she felt her bones would fly apart. The flames faded, vanished. 

_I'm alive.__ It was a dream. Oh, God, I'm alive. _She sobbed wretchedly, balling up and shuddering in the dark under her covers. Her throat hurt. The scent of burnt meat -- her own flesh -- haunted her. She let herself cry, but quietly.

"Let me in, Sweetheart. I'll make you a Sleeper Special." 

_Go away._ She peeked at the chair braced under her doorknob. She tried to speak and her throat closed up. Mom had long since lost the patience to hold and rock her until she calmed, as if breasts and periods had stolen her right to fear her nightmares. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, her breathing evened out.

"S'okay, Mom," she said, "go back to sleep."

Sydney responded with empty reassurances, insisting schnapps and sleeping pills would help. Lexa ignored her until she gave up. The drugs would trap her in the next nightmare. But she'd be silent, and that was all that mattered.

The Burning Dream hadn't been so vivid in years. Not since her brother left, when dread of repeats had kept her awake. Before then, Lincoln would have woken to comfort her child-self. "It's okay," he'd have said, "that was just a dream." Not like waking nightmares, like Titus after too much to drink. No, no one had ever chained her to a tree and set her ablaze -- twice, somehow -- not in this life. _Not in any other_, she'd tell herself until her subconscious believed.

Doubts, though, always returned. _What if…_ If the dream were as real as it had always felt -- as if everything that could ever matter to her had died in that conflagration -- then what had she done to cause such hatred? What could she possibly have done? And why? _What did I do to make them hate me so?_ Was it terrorism across lives? Surrender when the demons found her, when Audra found her, or else. Along with Berlin, 1947, more than any other nightmare, she associated the Burning Dream with going stark raving mad. Always, always, she woke feeling as fragile as blown glass.

Only when she was sure Sydney had gone back to bed did she let her eyes leak, only let herself sob again with hands over her mouth, and only when her tears had dried did she sit up. With raw eyes she studied the sky, faintly gray with approaching dawn. She rolled out of bed, pulled on sweat clothes, slipped from the house and out into the twilight. 

The air felt crisp on her cheeks. It tasted of frost and woke her sharply, fully, with chill air in her chest. She leaned and fell into swift motion, strides lengthening as she sped up, and as she ran along the corral's fence line the two mares nickered in greeting. _Good morning, ladies,_ she did her best to knicker in reply, thinking and promised herself that she'd take time to talk to them later.

And did. An hour later she looped back, sweaty and loose limbed, still shaky with phantom sensations of her skin seared black and crispy. It'd split if she moved wrong, as if the pyre still consumed her, as if she were still chained to that elder tree. Lexa staggered to a halt beside their fence. Fully heated, with sweat spots under her arms and down her chest and spine, the cool air was a caress inside her lungs. She folded her arms, resting elbows on the upper rail, still tremulous hands gripping her biceps. Both mares trotted to meet her. Their large dark eyes felt happy, warm. She reached out both hands, each stroking a mare's long muzzle, offering scratches for cheeks and behind ears.

"Hey," she murmured, "Hey ladies, how are you today?"

They nuzzled her in return, watchful, focused. _Why are you sad?_ she imagined they'd ask if they could, and they'd offer _We care, human, we help._

_You do. _ Lexa's breath shuddered out. _I'm fine,_ she tried to tell them, but that would be a lie, "I'll be okay. I'll be fine." The left mare -- the older one, Lexa thought, as hot liquid trickled down her cheeks -- nuzzled her wrist as if scenting the truth. "Shhh, you," Lexa crooned, "you'll give me away," and scratched until she felt that both mares believed that she'd make it through the day. "Thank you," she told them before departing, "thank you."

Lexa showered and got ready for school. She'd be fragile, she knew, brittle like glass. Today small hurts might break her. The walk to school gave her time to psyche herself. "I am ice," she told herself, as Anya had before each blitz against the Soviets, "my skin is diamond." The woman, barely older than Lexa was now, had led her squads against each convoy like a force of nature, lightning and thunder and depthless rage for her lost Little Sister. 

Lexa did her best to channel that rage as armor. To be fearless and confident. She passed Ontari and Octavia in the hall, glanced straight through them as if judging souls for Gehenna. After she'd passed, she heard "What crawled up her ass?" But neither had quite met her eyes.

The 'Double Oh No's' were learning.

Costia, somehow, saw right through her, brows rising as she slurped her coffee, then deliberately setting it aside. Concern shone in her autumn eyes. In a low tone she asked "Can I help?"

Lexa played dumb. "Help what?"

Costia's fingers waggled in a gesture of _All of you, Your mood, Your Eyes._

"I'm fine," Lexa said, and as Costia's brows crinkled with skepticism, added "Bad night. I'll be fine."

"Kay," said the blonde, and nodded to herself as if she understood perfectly. "I got your back," she whispered.

_Thanks,_ Lexa would have said, if her throat hadn't closed on the words.

Murphy, too, seemed to read her mood, if not so quickly. After a few curt rebuffs behind Mr. Ben's back he let her be, simply waving when the bell rang and he loped out to his next class.

Lexa followed Costia upstairs in silence, eyes gravitating to her new friend's hips no matter what she told them. _Bad idea. Bad, bad idea._ No one she'd seen was obviously out. Flirty eyes didn't mean Costia'd react well. Not in a town this small. In the upstairs hall, though, her shoulders pulled in, something like grief clenched in her chest, and drifting thoughts of Costia's lips faded into the burn of her sinuses and a hitch in her breath.

She sat down, cracked open her History textbook, and shut her eyes. For just an instant Lexa felt bark at her back. Iron shackles bit into her wrists. Her naked skin felt cold in the night, except for her feet, where the flames of a torch leapt to the kindling, and spread. But they weren't her feet, not exactly. _No,_ she thought, rocking in her seat, "No," _it's not real._

The discomfort of nails gouging her palms called her back. Pain made an anchor to her body -- her _real_ body -- and her eyes popped open. She registered a woman's back, a white wall and script of red and blue. A blink and she recognized the woman as her teacher, Mrs. Bryant, the script as words and numbers, Latin, no, Cyrillic, no, _English,_ yes. Dates and events, _Anno Domini._ The Aztecan federation had nearly collapsed with the outlawing of slavery, but they'd done it, and survived it, most of a century before the United States nearly tore itself apart over the same issue.

Lexa swallowed thickly, told herself to breathe. Gradually, her fists unclenched, revealing red crescents in her palms, and she flipped pages to find their place. Mrs. Bryant's eyes fell on her several times, but never with a question. With concern, she noted, and wondered _Did Costia say something?_

The same expression was directed past Lexa as well, at the back corner. At Clarke, hiding behind her hood and dangling hair and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Lexa tried not to look, to give space even if no one else would, but she couldn't ignore the anguish radiating from the girl. The grief, Lexa sensed, as if she'd lost some one very dear to her.

Under the shuffle of pages, quiet whispers spread whenever Mrs. Bryant turned her back. "Is she crying?" "..._sooo_ fucked up." "Look, she's shaking." "What's she see in him that I don't got?" "...Mensa moment." "Dude, she'd freeze your cock off." "She wouldn't cry like that with _me_." "...not an angel, she's a witch!" "...needs a better therapist." 

It was all too much, too horrible. Lexa twisted in her seat, fighting the urge to shriek at them to _SHUT UP! Leave her alone!_ Clarke wasn't merely shaking, but rocking herself, purple sleeves pressed to the sides of her hood, over her ears. Costia had shifted her desk close to rub her back. As Lexa watched, Costia leaned over and hugged her friend. When the murmurs rose again, Lexa blurted "What is _wrong_ with all of you?! Leave her ALONE!"

All eyes swiveled to her. Lexa glared back, daring even one to challenge her.

"Faces forward!" Mrs. Bryant snapped, and Lexa obeyed. "Thank you Miss Woods, but your encouragement _shouldn't_ be necessary, right everyone?"

The whispers became apologies, then slowly returned, now accompanied by thumbs tapping on phones.

Clarke lurched to her feet. She stumbled up the aisle, all grace gone in a rush to escape the classroom. Costia lurched after her. Ontari rose to announce an urgent need to visit the restroom. Mrs. Bryant ordered "Sit down and stay put, Ontari Norel. I know exactly what you're thinking."

Whatever support Costia gave helped in Computer Apps. Clarke only fidgeted with her hair and bit at her fingertips. Wells checked on her every few minutes, to the exclusion of everyone else. His attention seemed to reduce her agitation, though Lexa couldn't help wondering why she endured it all. Homeschooling had to be a better option.

The weather was sunny and not too cool, so Mrs. Indra and the boys' coach led everyone a few blocks southeast, to a football field ringed by a track loop. Lexa noted a baseball field to the south and a small park to the west. Indra didn't care what the girls did so long as they were visible and moving. Half the girls walked laps. Others played Ultimate Frisbee or soccer with the boys. 

Clarke walked the track loop with Costia. Still in her sweatshirt and oversize sunglasses, she ignored complements, wolf whistles, and catcalls. Lexa jogged fourteen easy laps, warily tracking every face that turned toward either girl. She'd fight anyone who got in their way.

The moment Indra called time, Ontari and her friends ran back to the gym. When everyone else arrived all the stalls were full. Ontari and a younger redhead were sprawled on a bench, already changed. Both chewed gum, which they carefully didn't to let Indra see.

A minute after Indra left the room, Ontari tapped three times on the locker behind her. Not loudly, but clear in the din of conversation, zippers, and shuffling clothes. A whistle blew, piercingly high pitched and disorienting. Lexa dropped her shorts to clap her hands to her ears. The whistle paused, then tooted a shrill, random tune. 

Another pause and she was able to focus through the fog. Ontari's friends looked smug. A few girls listened with puzzled expressions. Only one other obviously heard the noise. Clarke had pressed her palms to her ears and was rocking unsteadily, unbraided hair sweeping her shoulders. When the whistle resumed, she let out pained cries. Costia tried ineffectually to soothe her.

Ontari spit her gum into her hand. Her accomplice did the same. Everyone else was too busy watching Clarke to notice. When the two of them flicked their gum at Clarke's exposed hair, Lexa's hands shot out. She caught one slimy blob in each. Clarke flinched violently away, colliding with Costia and sending both of them to the floor. Clarke folded into a fetal pose in Costia's arms, hands still clapped to her ears. Lexa showed Costia the gum and got a wavery smile in return.

The whistle didn't stop. Lexa turned to find Ontari and her friend gawking. The rest of the P.E. class appeared uncertain how to react. Ignoring them, Lexa plunked the gum into the trash and moved past stalls until she located the source. "Open up!"

The shrill piping stopped, "Wait your turn," and resumed.

_Wrong answer._ Lexa slammed her palms against the gray metal door and stall wall, briefly forcing them apart. The latch slipped and the sound ceased. The door vibrated open, revealing a skinny brunette, frozen with a silvery whistle between her lips. Lexa snatched the whistle and returned to her locker. Once seated, she caught Ontari's gaze, held it until she saw genuine fear, then casually pulled on her jeans and brushed her hair until Ontari left. 

Clarke recovered slowly, swaying as Costia escorted her across the street and back to the school. Lexa followed a few paces behind in case anyone decided they were vulnerable. For the rest of the day, whenever their eyes met, Costia beamed as if she were some sort of hero. 


	9. Strange Circles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one I dedicate to "commanderraccoon", because the muse spoke clearly.

By Monday, though, home life had eclipsed Friday's drama. School seemed less pressing than making sense of her brother's recent behavior. Lincoln had come over Friday night. He'd made a kettle of soup. They'd watched TV. The whole time he'd said barely a word. No explanation why he'd never contacted her. No questions about her life. Not even eye contact. Didn't he care? Part of her answer had to be that he'd spent the weekend fishing in the Beaverhead Mountains, northwest of Terminus. _Fishing_. He hadn't even asked if she'd like to go. She'd been left to jog around town, do homework, and have piddley arguments with Mom. Obviously, she wasn't high on Lincoln's priority list. He resented her for all the times she'd gotten him in trouble with Titus. He was tired of feeling obligated. The thought made her want to break something.

Murphy snapped his fingers in front of her face, "Hey, Krypto-"

Lexa caught his wrist and slammed it to the table. Ceramic dust puffed up between them and she growled, "Don't do that." 

He blinked at her as if he'd missed the punch line.

She let go of his wrist as if nothing had happened. "I heard you, who's the bigger hero, Supergirl or Scarlett." He'd been luring her into small talk about comics since she'd begun her coil pot, but his question was as poor a choice as his timing. Her childhood hero didn't want anything to do with her. "Murphy, I just... I've got a lot on my mind."

He dipped his hand in the water cup to rinse his fingers and slicked his hair back. "Care to share?"

She gave a derisive snort and resumed rolling clay snakes to build her pot. 

"Really, I've been told I'm a good listener." Murphy leaned forward, hands open on either side of his birdman, lips bowing in a way that cooled her anger. 

She didn't want to talk about her stupidly dysfunctional family, instead blurted "What do you know about Clarke Griffin?"

He laughed sharply, "You too, huh?"

"Me too, _what_?"

"Lexa, _everyone_ asks about Clarke. She's kind of the school mascot, in a messed up way. Is this about her flipping out in the locker room?"

She scanned the classroom for attentive faces. Several looked away; definitely listening. Their shiny bald teacher was demonstrating how to make pots on the wheel. 

"Yes," she told Murphy. "What'd you hear?"

His version omitted the whistle, and with it, her motive for busting open the stall. The two queen bees were calling her crazy. Murphy didn't care why she'd done it. She'd upset Ontari and Octavia, and that amused him.

"Okay," she said, "back to Clarke. I know about Finn dumping Ontari to hit on her, but I get the impression there's more." 

Murphy set his birdman aside and leaned closer. "Clarke's mental or something. She's got a shrink in Butte that she goes to every other Thursday, and a deal with the school so she can stay home on her 'crazy days'. Teachers let her hide in bathrooms, leave classes early, pick where she sits and who's next to her. That kinda thing."

_So that's Octavia 'special treatment'?_ "Was she abused?"

"Fuck if I know." His breath was mint laced with smoke. "You seen her art?"

"No...?"

"I had Painting with her last year. Clarke usually did these forest scenes, little cabins and shit. Just, like, really, _really_ good stuff. Before high school she used to always have these sketchbooks with her. She never _let_ anyone look, but some people... ya know? It was mostly scenery and portraits, with some other weird doodles. Sorta Celtic, all swirly mazy and hard to look at. Lotta people think she's a witch, and I don't mean 'bitch' or that Blessed Be BS, but honest to God magic."

A shiver raced up her spine. She covered with a sarcastic "Yeah, right."

"No joke. Her house is above The Ark, over on Montana. Easy to find if you're hungry, but if you're looking for Clarke, you'll miss it."

"What, does it vanish?"

"Nah, you just forget why you're there. Like, every time. Some of the girls swear she can do curses, and at night her eyes turn green and slitted like a cat's. Then there's the whole thing where everyone obsesses like she's a movie star."

_Cat eyes? Curses? And therapy?_ "There is so _very_ much wrong with all of that... You're telling me she's in therapy in one breath, a witch in the next."

Murphy shrugged, "What I've heard." 

_Rumors._ "Stick to facts."

"Fact, Clarke's turned down just about every guy and a lot of the girls. Plenty of grudges. Fact, she's easy to mess with. Hates being touched, runs if you try to take her picture, can't stand loud noises or strong smells." 

_Like the whistles and bathroom odors._

"In middle school, like, sometimes everyone would stare at her on the playground, all at once. Instant. Meltdown." His hands rose in illustration of a mushroom cloud, complete with "plooshhhh..."

Lexa's jaw dropped in dismay. Clarke had to have a titanium spine simply to survive it all. "Has she ever tried to sue the school system? 'Cause it sounds like she could win, easy."

Another shrug, "Not that I know."

"Well who else gets treated like her?"

"Just Clarke. And I guess Costia Sinclair and Wells Jaha, but they'd get a lot less flack if they ditched her."

"Flack like Wells's shiner last week?"

"Yeah, he gets jumped a lot."

"By Finn?"

"I dunno, Bellamy swears it was just Pike razing him this time."

"Wait, who's Bellamy? And Pike?"

"Bellamy Blake. Octavia's brother? Thought you said you knew the score, Kryptonite." _Octavia has a brother?_ At her helpless look he explained, "Bellamy is Octavia's older brother. He goes to MT Western now but still hangs out. Finn's a friend of ours, sorta."

She scoffed, "Sorta?"

"Finn's dumb with girls. Bell can be an ass. There's also Atom Winston, Octavia's boyfriend -- doofus says he's gonna be a senator someday, but _meh_… he's alright." Murphy shrugged, "Pretty much everyone here grew up together."

"Okay." _No surprise._ "And Pike?"

Another shrug. "Pike owns the world. Fuckin' asshole. He and Bell are slick shit on the field or in a rodeo, but at least Bellamy's not a prick about it."

"So they're friends?"

"Sometimes," Murphy smirked, "when they're not competing or trying to kill each other over girls."

"By 'girls' do you mean Clarke?"

"Not since they graduated, 'cause college girls, or whatever," Murphy rolled his eyes. "So anyways, Finn and Atom hooked up with Ontari and Octavia back in tenth grade, but Finn's been not-so-secretly in lust with Clarke since middle school. Over the summer he got it in his dumbass brain that Clarke would date him if he ditched Ontari first. That got him like, one date -- where he impressed _no one_ \-- then Ontari went nuclear."

"Oh." _And now I show up._ "Uh, what a mess."

Murphy burst into laughter. "Yeah, but it's all cool, Kryptonite. Atom and Bell both think it's funny as shit that you and Clarke took Finn down a notch."

"Finn deserved it."

He stared a moment, then gave an uncertain laugh, "You're kinda intense, you know that?"

Lexa smirked, just a little, attention returning to her project. "It's been said."

* * *

Wednesday she heard what had to be five or more dog whistles in the school, all randomly shrieking between classes. Several students complained about high pitched noise, although no one mentioned a source. Lexa kept her mouth shut and plugged her ears with damp toilet paper. Clarke skipped P.E., and in English Lexa glimpsed gray ear plugs under her hair. She couldn't tell if the other girl bore a grudge for escalating the situation.

That evening Lexa searched for 'Griffin' in a phonebook, then 'The Ark', which she found in the restaurant section. The two shared the same address with different phone numbers. She went for a jog. The chilly night turned her breath to clouds, but the stars were out and she had a knife for protection.

She found the address in a row of two-story townhouse buildings, each a different shade of brick. The painted front window stated "The Ark Family Diner" and below that, "Home-Style Cooking with _Flare!_". The window art suggested the Eiffel Tower, maybe, or an oil field, with a plume of flame above the structure. She'd puzzle that out later. The aromas from the doorway made her salivate and the few customers she saw inside appeared to be enjoying themselves. She didn't go in. Anyway, she'd have to skip lunches to afford dinner.

Instead, she stood on the sidewalk, gazing at the upstairs windows. All four were mirrored. She felt weirdly certain that Clarke sat on some window ledge up there, observing her. 

"I'm sorry about the whistles," she said to the windows. "And everything else you've been through. You don't deserve their shit. Neither does Costia or Wells. It isn't right. You're really strong to not let them break you down or hate them back. Brave, too." 

She received no answer, except -- if it wasn't all wishful thinking -- a faint sense that Clarke had heard her. Then the restaurant door opened, an elderly couple stepped out, and she was alone. Alone on a sidewalk, talking to windows, to no one.

She shook her head. _I'm so far past crazy that I can't see it in the rear view._

It felt rude to scope out the block or loiter like a stalker, so she jogged to the school gym for an hour of strength training. 

Only later did she remember Murphy's "forget why you're there" comment. Obviously, he'd been BSing that part, the way locals did when tourists asked about ghost stories.

~*~

In the morning after Comp Apps Wells waved her aside. Lexa paused and they both watched Clarke glide down the hall. She'd worn a hunter green hooded pullover today, as oversize as the other one. Though she had the hood pulled forward, her back was straight. She'd given no sign of listening last night.

Lexa spun to Wells and blurted "I'm really sorry about the whistles. I was trying to stand up for her and didn't think how I could make things worse."

His fuzzy eyebrows rose and he let out a bark of laughter. "That's _not_ what I was going to say. Honestly, you've done good. Thanks."

She stepped back. "Is that what _she_ thinks?"

"It's what Cos and I think, and she trusts us." His expression hardened, "_But_, if you're only being nice so you can get close and hurt them later, _think again_. Are we clear?"

Warmth filled her. "Crystal. I see what they see in you. You're a good boyfriend."

"Uh, I'm not... I... I do what I have to do."

"Me too," she said, deciding Wells seemed especially sweet when he was speechless. "Just plan where to hide the bodies first, okay?"

He blinked, then laughed again. "Alright, wow, and yeah."

~*~

After P.E. she found Murphy leaning beside her locker, holding a gray sweatshirt and beat-up metal lunch box in one long-fingered hand. Ten years ago the box could have had NASCAR-themed decals. Cute. When he saw her, he stood taller and raked his hair. His eyes darted across her figure before returning to her face.

_Alright Murphy, don't make me regret this._ Her hands went to her hair, then to her shirt, smoothing it.

"Hey Kryptonite." He stepped into her space, so close his breath warmed her ear, and she promptly stepped back. He blinked once, backed off, and asked "How you feel about meetin' my crew?"

_Okay, _she told herself, _okay, that's good. Meeting friends is good._ She traded books for lunch bag. "Sounds fine." 

"You'll fit in. We're all rebels."

"Right." _'Cause that's worked so well in the past._ She discretely flexed her fingers and focused on the pattern of his shirt, a band logo too stylized to make sense of. "Lead on."

They circled to the east stairwell and down. The clouds were cottony white, shading the school while the sun shone in the distance. Gusts teased their hair and Murphy pulled on his sweatshirt, but in long sleeves the air wasn't cold enough to bother her. He guided her a block east, to the trees bounding the athletic fields. Beneath them she saw a cluster of wooden bench-tables. 

Two guys and a gorgeous Latina occupied one table. The girl jabbed the air with a white spork every few seconds. She looked angry, an impression only enhanced by the electric purple streaks in her long black mane. Closer, Lexa picked up enough of her rant to guess she was upset with a male teacher. Apart from their size, the boys were total contrasts. The one to the angry girl's right was dark-skinned and solid in a way that suggested padding over muscles. His hair stood up in a tall black cylinder, a style she hadn't seen in years. Across from him, the other boy was white, with a preppy vibe in a collared golf shirt, dark hair hair slicked back, and an athlete's triangular shoulders. _Atom Winston_, she guessed, _Octavia's boyfriend_. 

She noted only three lunches spread on the table. Octavia wasn't here.

Murphy sat beside Atom. Lexa hovered near Murphy, asking "Am I interrupting?" 

"Nah," the black guy said between mouthfuls. "Raven was tellin' us 'bout her mom's newest d-bag boyfriend." He waved for her to join them.

Lexa noticed a tree stump stool at the end of the table. She sat there, between Murphy and Raven. The table was warm, rough under her hands. It needed a sanding and a fresh coat of sealant. She set out two sandwiches, deciding to finish the rest of her lunch between classes. Atom checked her out like a choice steak. She looked to Murphy, wishing he'd say something. Raven half stood and leaned across the table to cuff Atom.

He grunted and rubbed his temple, "What was that for?"

Raven plopped back to the bench. "You were drooling, Jockstrap. Stop it or next time I'll plant my spork so deep you'll need a Burrito Grande manager to find it. Clear?" 

Atom nodded contritely.

Raven turned to Lexa, "The great white hunk is Atom. He's okay once you get past the rich kid clothes and the puffy hair. Thick, black, and stoic here is Paul, and I'm Raven. Lexa, right?" 

"Yeah." _Don't get on her bad side. One of us would die._

"Stoic?!" Paul sputtered bits of taco. "Since when am I 'stoic'?"

"My mistake, babe. I must have confused you with my other boyfriend. You know, the imaginary one who knows when to keep his mouth shut?"

Paul's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. He dragged her close and tickled her sides. Raven giggled and spit food and finally banged her head into his chin. He let go with a string of curses. Everyone laughed.

Raven scooted back to her place, face flushed. She wiped her mouth. "You started it. If it's any consolation, I'll have a concussion all through Psych. I might babble about the effects of too much _Eros_."

Paul's eyes glazed over, "Mmm... _Eros_."

They bantered on. 

Murphy asked Atom "You ditch your other half today?"

"Had to. I missed you guys and Octavia won't stop ranting... about _her_," Atom waved a half-eaten burrito at Lexa. 

"Why d'you put up with 'er again?" Paul said, mouth full.

"Dude, she's hot. And _you_," he pointed his burrito at Lexa, "will stop scaring her. Or I will get mad."

_Octavia is scared of me? Good._ "Get her to play nice and I will."

"Huh?"

She locked eyes with him, "Octavia and Ontari have been spiteful bullies since the day I got here, and _I_ am the line in the sand. You want me to back off, or if Finn wants to have any chance at all with Clarke Griffin, get _them_ to back off. _Starting_ with those damn whistles." 

Paul tittered, "I'm the line in the sand?" over Murphy's "What whistles?"

"Shut up," Lexa snapped. "Atom, do we have an understanding?"

He sat back, considering her, and ate his burrito.

"I like her," Raven said, "Tell the cheerleaders to trash the whistles and stop stinking up the restrooms, too. If they don't I'll spam their MyLameLife pages again."

"All right, I'll talk to Octavia." Atom saluted. "Wish me luck in battle."

Lexa snorted and halfheartedly returned his salute.

"Hey," Atom said, "does your brother work at Kenny's Auto Parts?"

"Yeah. Lincoln Woods. Why?"

"People talk and you kinda look like him. I'll bet he saw some heavy action overseas. What's his best war story?"

Everyone turned to her. All that came to mind was her brother's absolute silence regarding their time apart. "I don't know," she mumbled. "He doesn't talk much."

"Oh, come on, you gotta know _something_. Like, he was in the Marines, right? Where was he stationed? Afghanistan? Syria? What was he doing? How'd he get those scars on his hand?"

"I said I don't know! So drop it!"

Atom raised his hands in surrender, "Hey, no blood, no foul." Then to Murphy, "You got a live one there."

"I'm not the one dating an insecure cheerleader and her overbearing brother." 

Atom scoffed, "I am not dating Bellamy."

"You say so... Has he stopped threatening to shoot you if you sleep with her?"

"Eh, mostly. I'm pretty sure he knows."

"Pretty sure? Like eighty percent? Then there's still a twenty percent chance that you'll be dead in a month. I mourn you already."

"Yeah, say something nice at my funeral."

"He was a snazzy dresser," Murphy said, "And always woke up with perfect hair."

"Thanks. That'll work."

_Old friends, clearly. _Lexa cleared her throat. "So, Raven, you said you've got Psychology after lunch, right? Do you know Costia Sinclair?"

"Mousy nerd girl, frizzy hair, talk your ear off given half a chance? Yeah, we're tight like the Jenson twins before all that incest stuff hit the news."

_Wait, what?_ Lexa sat speechless, unsure if she should jump to Costia's defense or if this girl could actually be one of her friends. 

A beat later Raven began, "So last night on the Apocalypse Watch forum, this idiot tried to say that Project Frostburn is all about getting sulfur dioxide into the world's airplane fuel supply. Really? Climate engineering?! The oil companies would scream bloody murder."

Atom asked "What'd you tell him?" and Lexa had to wonder if he had a clue what Raven was talking about, because she certainly didn't.

Paul answered, "We sent a bunch of links on Frostburn and what _really_ goes on at GPI."

"Uh, what's GPI?" Lexa asked, and Murphy snorted.

"Granite Peak Installation," Raven said, "at the Dugway Proving Grounds in Utah. Frostburn was an über-black program to store Grays in cryo-hibernation, but since it got leaked you can bet it's got a new code name."

"Wait, Grays? Like... aliens?"

"They _are_ among us," Paul intoned. "Really, they are. Frostburn used to have a sister program called Red Tripod to look for hybrids in the US population, but it got 'shut down' in 1978 and no one knows where the personnel went or what they found."

_Hybrids?_ She shook her head in disbelief. _I am NOT part alien. _

"Same reaction I had," Atom said, mistaking her expression. "But it makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why look for aliens unless you have a reason to think they're here?"

"Yeah," she said quietly, and the conversation went on around her, mutating every time Raven uttered some funny-bizarre factoid or conspiracy reference. Lexa observed the group dynamics and laughed at the jokes, though she barely followed the rest. 

Murphy and Paul smoked after eating, mashing their butts into a foil wrapper held down by a rock. Everyone packed up at the five minute bell. Atom saluted and ran off. Raven circled around to Lexa, demanding "Come back tomorrow! Help me balance the testosterone."

"Probably, but I don't think you need my help. You're doing fine on your own."

"Still..." Raven replied, and Paul wrapped an arm around her slim waist. She leaned into him as if favoring a bad knee.

"Probably," Lexa repeated, laughing, but all too aware of Murphy trying to catch her eyes. _He'll ask for a date._ Instead, she stuck to the group, chatted with Raven until they all reached the school. Murphy shadowed her the whole way back. 

_Soon,_ she knew. _He'll ask soon._

* * *

The week ended with tests. First an essay in English -- not bad, not great. Then Algebra on Thursday morning. Lexa was certain she'd done poorly, a low B maybe, which she'd call pretty good on just two weeks of study. Friday's Physics exam went less well, a C at best. She was equally sure that Murphy's grade would make all of hers look fantastic. He acted completely nonchalant about failing, didn't think he'd need math -- or science, for that matter -- after high school. She couldn't accept that. She'd need more education than high school to guarantee escaping her parents' fate. That meant a tutor or at least a study-buddy. Costia had earned an A in Algebra, and she'd already taken Physics, right?

The rest of her week wasn't so rough. No ultrasonic whistles stabbed her eardrums between classes, and the restrooms contained only the expected odors. Costia flashed her braces every time Lexa noticed her. Likewise, Wells was jovial and solicitous in Comp Apps. If he were dating anyone but Clarke, she'd think he was interested. Clarke didn't seem to care, which Lexa took to mean she didn't feel threatened. And really, why would she be? In Wells's eyes, Clarke had to be the Beauty to Lexa's homely Beast.

The sky promised rain, so Mrs. Indra kept them indoors. Everyone not playing volleyball walked or jogged laps around the gym. Ontari and her clones snickered at Lexa and Clarke and Costia. They were planning something. When Indra called them in, Lexa stuck close to the cheerleader, silently daring her. Whatever Ontari saw in her eyes averted today's hazing. Lexa kept her guard up anyway, not-so-casually brushing her hair on a bench until Clarke, Costia, and others low in the pecking order finished changing.

Murphy showed up at her locker after English, offering to drive her home. "Okay," she said, _Let's get this over with,_ and told him the way. He knew the location; he liked a scenic spot in the hills. They walked across Helena Street to the gym parking lot and a black sports car with blotchy paint.

He opened the door for her, obviously proud. Inside, she became uncomfortably aware of how close her feet and backside were to the ground. The bucket seats were black leather, cracked and stitched, heavy with Murphy's smoky musk. Compressed padding barely rounded the frame and springs. 

He turned the key. The engine roared before dropping to a low, dangerous growl.

"Nice-"

Frenetic music blared from the speakers. Murphy lowered the volume to distant tornado. She lowered it further to avoid the need to yell, and asked "What is _that_?"

"Apocalyptic Thunderlords."

"The name fits," she smirked. "Nice car."

As they exited the lot he drawled "Eighty-eight Tlaloc First Sun, 3.1 liter H6, five speed." He followed with more engine specs than she needed. Fast cars and motorcycles had been Anya's thing. Or Lincoln's, before he left. Seeing that the speedometer maxed out at 160 mph told her enough. 

She tried to act suitably impressed as Murphy went on. Tlaloc was the Aztec rain god. The Sun Series was the brand's flagship sports car line, counting up from First to Sixth to Black Sun. They built only thirteen Black Suns per year, he claimed. All black, of course. Their motorcycles were also world class. He had a race model in mind to buy someday. 

She thought it unfair that her house was only a mile and a half from the high school, so told him to take them to the interstate. He raised the music and lowered the windows. Cold air ripped at her hair and she whooped in joy. They cruised three exits south at over a hundred, back to Terminus at ninety. The engine hummed smoothly the whole way. 

Their pace back through town felt painfully slow. Waiting for a coal train to pass, she tied a haphazard pony tail. Murphy watched her with parted lips and fingers tapping on the gear shift. She folded one leg and twisted to halfway face him, deciding _I should tell him._ But the words stuck in her chest. 

They jolted over the railroad tracks. To the left, the blocky, white-and-gray hotel drew her attention. It looked historic, frontiersy. The title "Hotel Bolton" stood atop the third floor windows, square-lettered words separated by a bell tower she'd never heard ring. After dusk, red neon lit the title and front windows, while motorcycles and old trucks collected on the streets nearby. 

Lexa muted the stereo and pointed. "I've been walking past that old hotel almost every day since I got here. You know anything about it?"

He chuckled, fingertips brushing her knee. "Its _old_," he said, "like, over a hundred. Used to be pretty cool. They've got this sixties mirrored dance area at the back of the bar. You like that kind of thing?"

"Dancing? Yeah. Do you?" If he could accept 'Just friends', dancing might be nice.

Murphy shot her a wry grin, "Both kinds."

"Both...? Oh." Her face heated. _Duh. I really stepped in that one._

He laughed lightly, reached out to smooth her hair around her ear. "Murphy…" she warned, but it came out plaintive, unsure. His touch became a caress along her neck. She found herself leaning closer, letting her eyelids droop to savor the touch. The kindness behind it, like some of her dreams. Ernst had touched Hanna like this. So had Clara, on secret nights. Clara had touched her as if memorizing her skin, her shape, the sounds of her sighs. They'd never dared reveal their trysts to Ernst. In an earlier life there'd been another, a fisherman named Erik. His body had been Elise's blanket against an Arctic sea breeze, rocking her like ocean waves under the northern lights. What her body wanted now couldn't change what her Others had chosen in their lives.

The tires crunched gravel. They'd reached her house. 

Murphy cut the engine. They unbuckled and faced each other. Lexa pulled the tie from her hair. His eyes tracked the tangle of it, darted to her mouth, returned to her eyes. His lips curled into a sensual smile. He reached out, cupped her cheek. 

She caught his hand, stilled it. "Murphy, wait."

He pulled back, uncertainty in his expression, twisted to face her fully. With hands in his lap he picked at his cuticles. "Yeah, so, lemme go first?"

_Deep breath._ Then she nodded. "Okay."

"I'm just gonna say this, alright?" He swallowed hard as she nodded again. "You're funny, Lexa. You're smart, and you're gorgeous. I'm sure you know all'a that."

"It's still nice to hear."

"Yeah, well, it's true." He rubbed his palms on his jeans. "And, I- I'd _really_ like to take you to the Homecoming Dance."

She hesitated. "I wouldn't have guessed that you'd want to go."

"Eh, right person, you know? And I'll be the guy who spikes the punch."

Lexa chuckled. "Of course."

"Is that a yes? Make it a yes."

She rocked back her head, shut her eyes, and let out a long sigh. _If I do this, if I say yes..._ Turn him down and he'd never guess the reason. He'd take it personally. Or share, and take a risk. He could out her to the school. Last time that'd blown up in her face. Only a sudden move to dodge bill collectors had kept her parents from finding out. With Titus out of the picture, she could handle Mom. What might Lincoln think, though? How would he react?

_And why do I care?_ But she did. Her throat tightened, imagining him looking at her as Titus would have, as her mother still might, with disgust in his eyes.

"Lexa...?"

She gulped past the lump, tried "I'm-" and made only a choking sound.

"You know what? Fuck it. I know you're out of my league, but I- Shit. You can't blame me for-"

Lexa shook her head fiercely, clasping his hands and squeezing until he met her eyes. "It's- No, Murph, it's not-"

"Fuck," he sighed, "someone else asked first. Because of course. Who was it? No wait, don't tell me. No- shit, was it Finn? Nah, he wouldn't-"

Lexa gulped hard during his rant, sucked a breath, and said it. 

"I'm gay."

Murphy froze. He met her eyes. "You're... You're _not_ joking."

She shook her head, swallowed again. "I'm gay," she repeated, something like laughter or sobs bubbling in her lungs. "I'm really gay." Murphy only stared, thoughts spinning behind his eyes. Thoughts she couldn't read. Her eyes began to burn and she blinked, sniffing and determined not to cry. A quaver in her voice, she told him "Say something?"

"Can I call that a yes for the dance?"

"What? Murphy, I'm gay. I like girls."

"Yeah, well, girls are hot. I get it. I'd still like to take you to the dance."

Laughter burst from her, hysterical and relieved. "Yes," she managed, "yeah, okay." 

"Yes! Dammit! Yes, thank you! I'd kiss you but..."

"But you're not a girl," she filled in, and hugged him instead. Awkwardly, because their elbows kept bumping the steering wheel, gear shift, and the lump of the console, and more because Murphy didn't seem to know how to give a proper hug. Then, laughing, both of them almost giggling in relief, they each sat back.

Lexa rubbed her eyes and Murphy chuckled.

"You know," he said, "this is _not_ how I pictured this going."

"No shit," she returned, "But look at it from my side, you're the first person I've ever told."

"Really? The first?"

"Like this, anyway. But Murph, you know you're not going to change my mind, right? Because you really, really won't."

"I still got a date out of it. And a friend?" He offered his hand.

She clasped it and squeezed. "Definitely a friend." And, reluctantly, pulled back, with a glance to his dashboard clock. His gaze tracked hers.

"Ah, shit, I'm late."

Lexa began laughing again. He laughed with her. When they regained their composure she got out and circled to his door.

"Hey," he said, "Me and Raven are going to the game next Friday, prob'ly do some partying after with Paul and whoever. You wanna join us?"

"Sure. Could you pick me up here before then?"

"Yeah, that's cool. What's your number?"

She hesitated. Changing numbers to dodge harassment would be less painful with Mom than Titus, but... "Swear to me you won't tell anyone else that I'm- That I'm gay. Don't give my number to _anyone_, not even Raven or Paul."

He answered with his trademark grin. She arched an eyebrow.

"A'right, Kryptonite, all your secrets are safe with me."

"Good, thank you. I'll see you around, Murphy."


	10. Down the Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to this world's Mulder and Scully.

Years to Months Ago

Agent Marcus Kane hadn't been wrong to expect that 'Liza' and Alycia Clark would cross his path again. Even one replay of his car's dashboard camera recording had provided plenty to work from. His memory had always been better than average. The events of that evening felt seared into his mind. He couldn't let go. Couldn't forget what he'd witnessed. Late at night, on far too many nights, that little screen replayed in his mind's eye. Some of it made sense in hindsight, given what he'd been told.

The footage had been glitchy with 'Liza' in-frame. Several times it had gone almost white with static, as if the nanotech in her blood created some sort of electromagnetic interference. _Fine,_ he decided, _I can work with that._ And did. Key word searches for static on recordings gave him two more sightings over the next year, one in Denver, the other in a tiny Midwestern town. But both sightings were merely ordinary, both women at gas stations, 'Liza' as a passenger in sunglasses while Alycia filled the tank. In each case the cars had been stolen. That was another lead. It sent him to a dozen other cases where the perp's description could be Alycia Clark or 'Liza'. In two of the latter, a relatively small, busty blonde had -- apparently effortlessly -- overpowered much larger men. She'd broken bones. She'd threatened one, "Give me your keys or I will tear your arm off and beat you with it." Both said her hands had been icy cold, liquid nitrogen cold. Her touch had caused frost burns. Maybe the nanotech drew in heat as a power source. That, too, was a lead.

Agent Kane would forgive her for hospitalizing both men. Each had been a street corner dealer. Rap sheets said meth, pills, and past charges of murder and rape. Kane felt zero pity. The implications for anyone who crossed the two women were less appealing. 'Liza' knew she could kill with her bare hands. She would if threatened. He began to build a profile in his mind.

Nanotech could explain her superhuman strength. It explained her inhuman resilience. It might explain the fact that machine gun fire at point-blank range hadn't slowed her. Not one frame in his dash-cam recording had looked the slightest bit like a flinch. She'd grown accustomed to her abilities. 

The claw marks in sheet metal from an armored van bothered him more. They suggested not only the strength of a grizzly bear, but claws with bone density to match. And her fingertips, when he'd glimpsed them, as 'Liza' rose upright after bouncing off his grille and into the hillside, hadn't had claws. So she'd grown them, somehow, in under half a minute while bounding down the road at forty miles per hour. She'd used those claws to latch on to the back of a moving SUV and cling as several Air Force MPs unloaded M16s into her chest. Based on the articles he read, those claws suggested dozens of grams of bone migrating from deep in her skeleton, out to her fingertips, perhaps reinforced with carbon fibers, all in seconds. Her blood should have clotted in her wrists from that much calcium in transit. It should have become as thick as concrete.

His best research articles -- scoured from the net on a specialized, off-the-books laptop, paid in cash and running darknet software through hotspots from burner phones -- were entirely theoretical. Even thirty years old, Drexler's 'Engines of Creation' set the standard for potential nanotech capabilities. Nothing in the published research came close. State of the art wasn't nanobots. Not at all. State of the art was proteins or metal cages that unfolded to release drugs when doctors applied microwaves or magnetic fields from room-sized machines. The comparison felt like ant hills versus space stations.

Over a year after the event, Marcus Kane sat back in his book store café chair. The conclusion felt inescapable. If he hadn't been outright lied to, if Project Black Blood was real and 'Liza' was part of an experiment, then the nanobots involved had to be light years ahead of any public research. So far ahead that he doubted that even an ultra-black unacknowledged special access program could be the source.

_Is this alien technology?_

But that wasn't the worst of it. For the life of him, Kane couldn't figure out how or why 'Liza' had shown up when she had. The moment she'd arrived the trailing Air Force SUV had smacked into her. She'd bounced off it, then Kane had hit her, too. All her later actions suggested that if she'd leapt from the hillside above, she should have been unstoppable. Leap on to the SUV or the van carrying Alycia Clark, attack and move on. The replays in his mind's eye always began with her popping out of nowhere. His dash cam hadn't witnessed a leaping figure. A quiet drive, then chaos. And, nanotech or not, why would she be naked? 

That part made no sense at all. That made it one more clue. 

Backtracking the pair's origins proved more difficult than he'd have guessed, given their more recent behavior. Alycia Clark must have been captured near the intersection of Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming, and no more than a week before his encounter. There wasn't much in that area beyond wilderness reserves and small towns. Push the capture zone a hundred miles in any direction and the convoy would have taken an interstate or traveled by aircraft. A go-quietly capture at some campsite or cheap motel could easily have gone unremarked. So he combed the local sheriffs' and town PD databases, looking particularly for the gaps that could indicate a purged report. 

That got him call-ins that the reporting officer had later declared as false alarms. He trawled through them, cross referencing times.

One of those cancelations had come an hour and fifty-one minutes after the initial call, which had somehow gone unrecorded. Near as Kane could tell from their response logs, at least four deputy sheriffs had responded to the same call, somewhere north of Vernal, Utah. The event had been early-morning, only eleven hours before his encounter. Nothing he read suggested an armored van, Air Force soldiers, or anything like 'Liza'.

So he kept digging.

The two women had laid low before then, he guessed. They'd been on the run and hiding, not looking for trouble. Working further into their past took him months. Their names didn't exist. Searching for a composite-generated face could get _him _flagged. He resorted to oblique methods. Keyword searches related to inhuman strength or violence seemed to point west, to California.

Because of course the busty blonde monster came from California.

One state, even one that big, limited the databases from insane to merely impractical. He focused on missing persons, on 'Liza' -- Nordic, full-figured, Caucasian -- and 'Alycia Clark', both of them twenty-something to early thirties. The list was daunting. He waded through it.

And nothing. If California had ever reported them missing, then that truth, too, had been purged from public knowledge. He expanded to other documents.

The breakthrough came in late spring, with an automated filing for a long overdue bill. Dr. Eliza Clark & Alycia Lex were five years late on their utility payment. The letter threatened legal action. Marcus only chuckled to himself at the stupidity of automated systems.

The address was for downtown San Francisco.

But just like Alycia Clarke, Eliza Lex didn't exist. His FBI tools failed to dig up a birth certificate, college degree, employment, or any other address. Eliza, definitely, had also been purged from the web.

He'd have to make an in-person visit to interview past neighbors to take his search any further. That would certainly get him noticed again by the powers behind Black Blood. Not good.

Still, five years ago. Whatever had happened to Eliza and Alycia, it had happened in late 2006, in San Francisco.

~*~

Meanwhile, the divorce became another sad truth of his life. Taisa was right, he conceded. She deserved more than he could give. The Bureau asked for everything he had. He couldn't give it up. Not now, after all that he'd seen. The world wasn't what they believed. He'd kill and die to preserve their innocence, and pray to all the gods who ever were that they never understood the truths he lived with. Their daughter deserved more than he could give. They'd all continue to live in Salt Lake City. He'd get Isabella for the weekends, for most holidays, and on vacations when he could make it work. Taisa got primary custody. Marcus picked an agent to find him an apartment.

Izzi accepted the situation grudgingly, with accusing eyes and slammed doors, with cold silence at meals. "You love your job more than you love me and Mom." _No, never,_ he wanted to say, _you are why I do all that I do._ But, barely into her teenage years, all that she saw was his absence and her mother's cool pragmatism. 

Marcus crossed paths with Melissa Greenwald at an op in Montana. Kane had flagged an internet purchase of a hundred pounds of finely ground ammonium perchlorate, twenty pounds of powdered aluminum, and, of all things, five gallons of rubber cement. The associated name wasn't registered for amateur rocketry, which meant home-made missiles. Greenwood had flagged the man's associates for purchases of all the components to mix nitroglycerine, RDX, and plastic explosives. The capstone was one man's brief hospitalization for third degree hand and facial burns. Something had blown up in the chemist's face. The warrants came through in the time it took for Marcus to drive up to the office in Helena, Montana. Agent Greenwald called the locals and the two of them headed for the flat half of the state.

He and Mel had been an item for a while, long before Marcus met Taisa. Mel had been a year ahead of him at Quantico, near the top of her class, razor sharp and laser focused on cult behavior. She'd grown up in a commune, of sorts. Her collective parents had raised her with the belief that the End Times would soon arrive. Civilization would collapse. She had to be ready. The group hadn't been gentle with their training.

The FBI and state police had rescued her, put her in a saner, safer home. Mel swore she'd never let another child be brainwashed as she had. That sort of paranoia was a disease. Unchecked, it led to atrocities. "I've seen others like this group," said Agent Greenwald as they drove east. "Bombing a federal building won't be enough."

Agent Kane nodded. Mail bombs and anthrax were the tip of the iceberg. The SLC Bureau had sponsored a conference last summer on future trends in terrorism. Bio-warfare had been a prime topic. In the coming decades suitcase labs might lead to weaponized bird-flu riding abandoned luggage, or packets bursting in the air over cities. A single malicious fool might figure out how to murder the world. Their saving grace was that the vast majority of would-be terrorists were poorly educated. Synthetic virology was the stuff of Ph.D's. Agent Kane and his allies only had to neutralize the rare mad genius.

This time there weren't any geniuses. Surveillance showed a sprawling farmstead on the frosted Montana plains, isolated, with backup power from gas generators and a sparse forest of wind turbines. Deep cover agents said one barn contained explosives. The group was working towards home-brew RPGs or missiles, to use or sell, either was illegal at every level. One man occupied a lookout tower at all hours. That lookout had a view for miles, nothing but snow and clumps of dry weeds to hide an approaching threat. They'd have to come in at night, on foot, no lights.

They organized a Joint Terrorism Task Force of state and county forces, Agents Kane and Greenwald acting as advisors. The operation began after sunset, closed the circle after midnight. A helicopter dropped from above to deliver their ultimatum by loudspeaker. _You're surrounded. Surrender and you won't be harmed. Fire and you will be fired upon._

Of course one man opened fire at the first officers to be caught in the tower's floodlight. "SHOTS FIRED!" shouted a voice from Kane's earpiece, "Repeat, SHOTS FIRED!" Then "I see him," and "Take him out." A distant boom rippled across the plain. Kane winced -- even hospitalized threats made for bad PR -- but no one else fired from the homestead. Not even the lookout. No one tried to set off the barn full of bombs-in-progress, and for that above all he felt grateful. The would-be militia surrendered without further gunfire. Spitting, cursing, threatening legal action, even a brawl in the tool shed, but nothing worse. They'd have their day in court. Or courts, really, for county, state, and federal explosives violations. They'd all be alive for those court dates.

Agent Kane called that a victory.

Wide awake on coffee and too much adrenaline, low sunshine glittering on the snow under the bright blue sky, the lot of them spent the morning processing their captives in Glendive. Funded and required by the oil boom, the town had the only large jail within a hundred miles. Greenwald and Kane, as the representative feds, had to sign nearly every form. By mid-afternoon, finally done, Kane's hand felt permanently crimped. He watched Agent Greenwald roll her neck, her tight, perfect, pony tail dragging over her shoulders, and knew she had to feel the same. When their eyes met, he nodded towards the door.

With a tired sigh, she gave a slight nod in return. There'd be a celebration that evening. The oil fields supported a ridiculous number of bars in eastern Montana and the Dakotas. Glendive never quite slept. Marcus, though, expected that he'd feel worlds better if he got some shuteye before the party.

Mel drove them to the nearest motel. The parking lot was packed. The woman behind the desk gave them a tired look and said, "I've got one room left, two beds."

Mel and Marcus glanced at each other, answering "Fine," and "We'll take it." 

As soon as they walked in, Mel flopped back on the first bed. Marcus dropped his bag beside the other, picked a change of clothes, showered until his skin was cherry red. By the time he emerged Mel had only rolled to her side. Rest had barely ruffled the smoothness of her ash dark hair, pony tail still tight at the base of her skull. He couldn't imagine that felt comfortable. Her eyes were open, alert, bloodshot with fatigue as she watched him.

"You going to be all right?" he asked.

"There weren't any kids," she said with a sigh. "I was afraid there'd be kids."

Marcus agreed, "There weren't any kids." But the man who'd sniped at them had died in the ambulance. He probably ought to feel guilty about that.

He drove them to the agreed-upon bar. No strippers, thankfully, but several of the locals' karaoke felt a bit too nails-on-chalkboard shrill to his ears. He and Agent Greenwald mingled, converged on a stained oak table, mingled some more, congratulating all involved for a job well done. The Bureau wanted whatever positive PR its agents could manage with state and local law enforcement.

Agent Kane nursed two beers, tried to let his guard down as if he'd had six, to seem human, to make himself approachable. A few of the Montana cops sat with him, shot the breeze, moved on to other tables. The county cops mostly kept their distance. The few that did approach were watchful, either awed or looking for a reason to despise him for his title or authority. He did his best to present as a fellow soldier to the former, respectful to the latter.

Agent Greenwald, he noted, made all the same efforts. When their eyes met from across the room, she nodded to him. Mel had always understood.

The sun had been down for hours when they finally drove back to the motel. They took turns in the bathroom, discussed the militia leaders, brushed their teeth standing side by side in sleep clothes. Her unbound hair looked strange to him. It made her a different person, more the woman he'd once thought he loved than the cool android she tried to be. He made himself look away as they each crawled into their respective beds. 

Though his eyes felt raw and exhaustion was a weight dragging on his soul, Marcus couldn't drift off. His mind wouldn't settle past memories of gunfire, of shouting and curses. He'd genuinely expected some fool to set off an explosion in the barn. It would have made a tower of fire in the night. But when he blinked he saw only the neon glow between the blinds. A few cars rumbled through the intersection and the heater whistled. _The op went perfectly,_ he'd told his boss. Closer, Melissa's breath was shallow and uneven, still awake.

"Marcus?" she whispered, toneless, unsure.

"Yeah, Mel. I can't sleep either." An invitation, maybe. He heard the rustle of bed sheets and lifted his own, scooted back. A long moment later his mattress dipped and a cool hand touched his. She slid in beside him, rolled to face him. Their knees bumped. Arms brushed his and warm air caressed his face. Then pure ice touched his shins and he sucked a breath. That ice slid down his calves, wrapped around his ankles. "Fuck! Mel, your toes are frozen!" They always had been, before.

"I'm cold," she murmured, as she once had, back when they were young and he still remembered a world not on the edge of imploding. He understood, now, that she'd never meant her toes. The cold lived inside her. Fear, or grief, or some deeper despair. Someday he hoped that she'd tell him about the group (cult?) that had raised her. He didn't expect that she ever would.

"I know," he said. She already knew about his divorce, about Taisa and Izzi. He knew that this'd never go far. Mel had never wanted a family. She'd never wanted anyone she couldn't lose. "I know, Mel, nothing changes."

Her nose rubbed his; warm, insistent, breath sighing over his mouth. Then a kiss, firm and desperate as she rolled on top of him.

~*~

It kept happening. 

Every few weeks or months, after ops or when one of them visited the others' home turf. He or Mel would find some excuse to meet up, to share a bed, scratch the itch, then go home. That's all it was, really. If Melissa ever wanted more she refused to give her desires away. He cared just enough to shake her awake from nightmares, not so much that he'd coax her to talk about them. _I can still walk away,_ Marcus guessed that she'd tell herself. The lie might even be true. She seemed to consciously avoid his schedule with Izzi, would shut down if he hinted at the two of them meeting. They were convenient for each other. Nothing more. He told himself it didn't hurt every time she left.

Things might have stalled that way for years if not for his daughter, if not for a single photo. He and Izzi had made peace in the last year, more or less. They'd gone ice skating, just the two of them, in that busy space between Christmas and New Years. He'd counted himself lucky not to break an ankle or his tail bone. Her pirouettes made him dizzy, and grateful beyond all words that she was still young enough to want his approval. He gave it, happily, and snapped photos as she let him. By day's end his face hurt from grinning.

Later, he printed four photos. Two for a binder, one for his office, one behind glass to hang in his apartment. The last Izzi smiled at. After dinner she went back to it, asking "What happened here?"

"What? Where?" Marcus asked, still busily scrubbing dishes.

Izzi brought the photo into the kitchen, angling it toward him. "Look."

Marcus saw his daughter, again, spread arms and coat tails flared above her leggings, loose braid swung out above her shoulder. She hadn't quite dared to try spinning on one foot. Her smile didn't even look forced (or not much). "You look beautiful."

Izzi swatted his shoulder, though a hint of pink colored her cheeks. "Not me. Here," she pointed, "look, here." She tapped a figure in the background.

The woman wasn't anyone he recognized. Leather jacket and jeans, long dark hair, fur ear muffs, pale complexion. The camera hadn't focused on her. The image smeared her features. "I don't recognize her. Do you?"

"No. But _look_." She tapped other figures in the background. "Do you see it?"

_Was someone watching us?_ But Izzi understood the threat of strange observers. He'd taught her that much. The people she indicated looked ordinary, casual. None seemed focused on Izzi or on him as the photographer. None of them prickled his lizard brain as potential terrorists. "I don't think I'm seeing what you are, Sweetheart."

Izzi grinned triumphantly. 

"What?"

"We learned about this in photography club. Old cameras could only focus on one thing. But new cameras, like this," she tapped the phone in her pocket, "can focus on a bunch of stuff at once."

He studied the photo. His phone's camera had done well. Most of the background looked perfectly focused. "Yep. Looks good to me."

Izzi shook her head. "No, Dad, _look_." She tapped that one poorly focused woman again. "This woman is _different_."

Frowning, Marcus dried his hands and took the photo from her. His camera really had done an excellent job with its multi-focus digital lens. Beyond his daughter, the background was clear, crisp as the air had been that day in the park. All except for the one woman. She alone looked almost painted in, an artist's impression of the original person. But blurred, faded, colors muted towards shades of gray, as if out of focus and under-exposed. Her eyes, too, seemed to gleam, reflective like an animal. The total effect rendered her indistinct, anonymous. Caucasian, probably, and slim, but otherwise he couldn't have picked her from a lineup if his life depended on it.

"Hold on," he breathed, and checked his phone. The photos from that day were still on it. The original that he'd printed glitched and refused to load. In another he found the same woman walking away, and again she was slightly out of focus, pixilated, colors muted, but nothing else was. They couldn't find her in the other shots.

The printed copy reminded him of Eliza's face, glancing back at him after she'd been hit by two cars and bounced into a mountainside. She'd glanced back at him as she stood up, just briefly. In the dark his own eyes hadn't seen hers. His dash camera had. Between bursts of static her eyes had burned like negative lens flares, like two black hole suns. 

This wasn't the same in effect or severity. The blurring was different and far less, but Marcus couldn't help wondering at a common cause. 

"You're right, this is weird," he told Izzi, though his hands trembled with the reminder of that evening on the road. "I'll bet there's a simple explanation."

If there was, he couldn't find it.

His photo with Izzi led to other figures, male and female, in the course of another year's FBI investigations. Modern surveillance cameras were the key. Older systems didn't have the focal depth or resolution. He discarded most for poor quality, printed a few, selected the best. Two more women, three men, and a seventh of indeterminate build. Each caused the same effect on every frame.

Eight individuals, perhaps fewer if he'd ID'd the same one twice. In six different cities. It wasn't policy, he'd be scolded for using FBI tools. This wasn't even an official investigation. Still, Counter-Terrorism gave him quite a bit of latitude to follow leads, and he collected those printouts. Pinned them on a bulletin board in his bedroom closet with locations, dates, parallel events.

None of it matched. He couldn't associate the faded, blurred people to known crimes, not past a possible connection to missing persons, but those were too common to single out. "Maybe they're witches," he said to himself. "Or aliens." Either of which he'd have laughed about, before. Instead, he seriously debated the possibility that an alien in human form had somehow been incapacitated and brought into a San Francisco hospital. _Dr._ Eliza Lex could have been a receiving physician or even a surgeon. The creature had infected her, changed her.

The traits didn't match. Automatic gunfire hadn't incapacitated Eliza. Her fluids clearly hadn't affected Alycia. He shook away the notion. 

The stories he'd dug up from SF in 2006 had begun to paint a different picture. Eliza might have died screaming in such pain that it tore her vocal cords, howling so loudly that a dozen other patients registered complaints. The CDC had gotten a call the same night. A woman had beat up two nurses and a security guard just to look in from the next room. And, later, Eliza might have opened her eyes to pitch black in a metal box, sprouted claws and torn herself out of a morgue refrigerator bay. SF Grace General Hospital had haggled with its insurance companies through the holidays and into 2007.

The NDA that Marcus had signed might be the death of him, but he'd seen too much. The universe had shown him magic beyond what he'd imagined possible. To turn his back on such mysteries, regardless of legal consequences, would be blasphemy.

So he watched, and he waited, with fingers crossed. When a bleached, blurred impression of a man crossed his office desk, he brought the closed circuit footage to his boss, Special Agent in Charge Prandel, raising the case as a mere curiosity.

"It's weird, I'll grant you that," said Prandel. "But it's low priority unless you link it to a case."

That was enough. That constituted official permission. Agent Kane put out feelers to other agents, sent printouts to other offices. _Loop me in if you've seen anything like this._ Classified or not, half of them got lost in the mail. Others went ignored.

Melissa Greenwald was one of the few to admit receipt, but not officially. "I've seen that effect before," she confessed as they lay in his bed, late on a summer night. "Once. On a film, years ago. I don't know what it means."

"What film?"

She shook her head. "I was a kid. I don't remember."

"Mel?"

"Don't ask."

"Alright." Instead, he made a snap decision and rolled from the bed. Nude, he strode to his closet, slid back the door, switched on the light. Only his shirts hid the bulletin board.

"Marcus? What are you doing?"

"There's something I need to show you." He swept aside his shirts, showed her his archive. "I don't know if these are ultratech, or aliens, or something stranger." He told her everything of the photos, from Isabella's discovery to the present. After Melissa had digested that, he gave her the barest outline of his encounter with Eliza and Alycia, excluding their names.

Mel accepted his story without once calling him insane. Very polite of her.

"You think I'm nuts, don't you."

"No. No I don't. Your photo evidence is concrete. You haven't imagined that part."

"But…?"

She looked up at him. "But I think you should let all of this go if you can, Marcus. This sounds like an X-file. Rabbit holes like this run deep. How much is it worth to follow it?"

Marcus laughed a little. "I don't know."

"Then sit on it until you do."

"Yeah, good advice. But…" he hesitated, debating names that couldn't be unsaid.

"The world is terrible, Marcus. Asking won't make my part of it any more so."

For a moment he only stared. "Mel, shit, what-" But when she shook her head, _let it go,_ he made himself take a breath. "Alright. If the names Eliza or Alycia, or anything like those," he waved to his bulletin board, "cross your desk, loop me in?"

Later, much later, he wished that she'd refused. His life would have been so much simpler if she'd refused. Instead, Melissa told him, "I will."


	11. The Gap Between Us

Murphy waited at her locker Monday morning, offering another pencil sketch of her and a folded note that read "However you want to play this, I'm game." 

"Thanks," she told him, "that does mean a lot." He was there again for lunch, when they, Raven, and Paul walked to the local Burrito Grande for Aztecan fast food. They each ordered and Raven picked a table, where she stretched out her bad leg. "Got hurt when I was a kid," she told Lexa. "Nerve damage."

"Okay," replied Lexa. Raven's tone said there was more to it than that. An adult had been involved, she sensed from her new friend, and not in helpful way. So Lexa let it go. When the others joined them she felt content to let the conversation gravitate to conspiracies, aliens, and the fast food industry. Lexa joined in the banter, daring to believe she could be one of them. That she could have a real place here. By the time Murphy drove her home she was floating.

She invited him in, only to freeze at the sight of Sydney on the living room sofa, chipped bowl of cereal in hand, a half drained bottle of wine on the little table, sitting her ratty blue bathrobe. Her cheeks were splotchy. Her puffy eyes widened. "Murphy?"

"Wait," Lexa said, "you know each other?!"

"Shared a couple shifts at the Tap," Murphy said, then casually, "Hey Sydney, you mind if I take Lexa to the Homecoming Dance?"

Mom blinked several times, then squee'd like a kindergartner and jumped up so fast that milk splashed the carpet. Her robe opened to a thin nightgown. "We need'a get you a _dress_, 'Lexandra!"

"Mom! Bathrobe!"

She looked down at herself, flushed from sternum to hairline, and fled into her bedroom. 

_Scheisse,_ Lexa thought, pinching the bridge of her nose. _Well, at least that's settled._

"Lexandra?" Murphy said, delight plain on his face.

"Shut up, Murph."

* * *

_Hanna made her way along Vienna's muddy cobbled streets, weaving through the evening crowd. Through the rain, her eyes tracked the gray uniforms of militiamen circulating among winter dresses and men in waist coats, contrast to the plainer fabrics of the poor. All wore muted colors from what they'd been before the fascists took over Austria. Hanna kept her umbrella close, letting wavy chestnut hair fall around her face. Those militiamen would be watching for her and other escaped dissidents. She skulked along walkways, keeping to the shadows. No one cried out. She reached Graben Street, smelled food scents amid the mildew. Shop merchants called her attention, only to move on when she ignored them. Her destination was just ahead, a once-a-week rendezvous by the Plague Tower_ _of Graben Street. She slowed, sensing Clara and Ernst nearby, then locked onto two figures up ahead. Cautious, she drifted closer. Relief burst through her, but their faces held only dread. Clara saw her first and reacted with silent panic. A second later Ernst echoed her._

_"Halt, or they die." _

_Hanna spun to face an eerily familiar woman in trousers and a leather trench coat. A braid the color of corn silk draped her right shoulder. _Audra_, Hanna thought, unsure how she knew, _Her name is Audra._ Something about the woman felt broken, or hollow. She held a long-nosed pistol at her side, raindrops dripping from the muzzle. Beside her, two similarly hollow militiaman aimed rifles at her husband and best friend. Hanna sensed others (demons?) in the wary crowd. _

_"Please, don't hurt them," Hanna said, almost choking at the constriction of her chest. This was a scene from her nightmares come to life, to _her_ life. _

_"Your life for theirs," Audra said, "as always."_

_"Why? Why are you doing this?" _

_"When you know that, the rules will change. Now turn around. On your knees."_

_Hanna faced her loved ones. She knelt in the mud, too terrified to swallow, heart thundering behind her ribs. Ernst looked away. Clara burst into tears. Hanna choked out ~I love you,~ and began the Lord's prayer. Gunshots exploded in her ears._

Lexa jolted awake to the piercing burn of three holes in her back, a sense of drowning on dry land. She sucked in air to dispel the sensation, and her breath shuddered. Her pulse pounded like galloping hooves in her eardrums and every muscle seemed be trembling. When she jerked at the covers her arms quivered like leaves in a fierce breeze. 

Clara and Ernst's horrified expressions persisted behind her eyelids. Clara loved debates yet hated to argue, and despaired to find a satisfactory husband. Ernst had a ready laugh and no sense at all for personal risk or when not to argue. Clara's hugs were sunlight. Her secret kisses had been magical. Ernst had told all the funniest jokes and given massages to make her very bones melt. Both of them had made her smile even on her darkest days. She'd die to protect them.

She _had_ died for them.

_No, I didn't. That was Hanna and she was only a dream._ The details of Vienna must have come from movies and photos. Changeless immortals like Audra couldn't exist. This time, though, Lexa couldn't make herself believe it. Ernst and Clara were too vivid. Hanna's abject terror for their safety refused to be rationalized away. 

Her room remained dark, starlit, not a trace of dawn in the sky. The house felt still and quiet as she held her breath to listen. Her ears detected only the sussing wind and the river's gurgle. The same sixth sense that had insisted Lincoln was alive now informed her that the house was empty. 

Still she hid under her covers, shaking, kept awake by residual adrenaline and the growing discomfort of cramps. Her skin felt flushed with a mild fever. She got up to visit the bathroom and find painkillers, then paced the house. A little searching revealed schnapps in the freezer. She knocked back shots until warmth relaxed her muscles and fuzzed her brain. She went back to bed. 

_Audra said "the rules will change." What rules? Why would they kill me over and-_ She stopped herself. _Audra's not real. They're dreams. _

_But what if they're true?_

That thought followed Lexa into sleep. It summoned flashes of Hanna's childhood, of Clara braiding her hair in one of their bedrooms, of her tingling scalp and her dearest friend's gentle hands, of that sunshine smile in the mirror. The room felt like Clara's. She couldn't be sure; they'd spent too much time in each others' homes to clearly recall which bed belonged to whom. Girlish daydreams of knights, of Templars entombed beneath Vienna's ancient streets. Later, they'd whispered of soldiers like those who'd fought in the Great War, their limping steps or hook hands and haunted eyes. Hanna'd dreamt, sometimes, of bloodshed and battles, of a sword in her hands. Fighting hadn't been glorious or romantic, not like stories. Cutting men open had made her weep. A man's spilt guts had trailed behind him like giant worms as he crawled away, and the sounds he'd made... the whimpers. Her sword through his neck had been mercy, her dream-self had wanted to believe. Many times Clara'd shaken her awake, ~Hanna, Hanna, wake up!~ and hugged her until she ceased shaking.

Nearly as often, though, once sure that Clara had drifted back to sleep, Hanna'd held her close, murmuring ~It isn't like stories, Clara, not at all. It's bad, so bad I hope you never know.~ A few times she'd even vowed ~I'll always keep you safe.~ In the dream, Hanna/Lexa knew where that vow would lead even as she spoke it.

When next Lexa woke, it was to the rosy light of dawn filling her room. Raw as her eyes felt, sunlight only made the dream feel like an omen. As if that had ever made a difference. This was one more Tuesday morning and she had a life to live.

~*~

Instinct told Lexa to withdraw from everyone, to run fast and far before she cursed them the way her father had sworn that she would. She fidgeted through classes, responded to classmates with curt disinterest, and made only the barest efforts with her teachers. Murphy rolled with it from the moment she mentioned cramps. After History, Costia snagged her wrist and pulled her to the hallway wall.

"Kay so what's wrong?"

She ducked her head and focused on the speckled white linoleum. Costia gripped her hand as if afraid she'd bolt. Which she might. Better to give up than have her loved ones suffer and die in her place. The only way out was not to care. She steeled herself for a flip 'Just hormones.' 

The words died in her throat at Costia's guileless autumn-leaf eyes. It was too late to avoid caring, maybe had been since her first week here. "Nightmares," she mumbled, looking away, "kinda messed me up."

Costia dropped her backpack and unabashedly hugged her. Tightly, arms linked across her back. Completely unselfconscious about boobs pressed together or who saw them. Lexa stiffened, emotions roiling. Costia's strawberry scented hair got in her face, in her mouth. Her breath hitched, threatening the humiliation of tears. Costia squeezed as if to say _You're safe with me_. Lexa's eyelids drifted shut and her arms came up to return the embrace. Costia's neck smelled of scented lotion, and beneath that, something sweeter, natural. She inhaled deeply and heaved a ragged sigh. Costia squeezed again and the tension drained from Lexa's body. 

"Better?" was a puff of air at her right ear.

Lexa shivered, then nodded. Mom never held her like this. Never. It shouldn't feel so familiar. So right.

"Good," Costia whispered, arms still tight, chin on her shoulder. "Most people don't get enough hugs."

Lexa giggled in response, borderline hysterical to her ears, and imagined (remembered?) Clara's _Zu wenige Umarmungen_, ~Too few hugs.~ 

Costia squeezed one last time before easing back. Her hands rested at Lexa's shoulder and waist. "Are you gonna be okay?"

She gave a shaky nod. "I'll manage. Thanks, Cos."

The blond flashed a megawatt smile. "Anytime. See you in Gym, 'kay?"

"Okay. And, um... If we're doing team-anything today, then you, me, Clarke, and anyone else you want will be a team together. I'll handle Indra if she complains."

"Super!" Costia said happily. She re-shouldered her bag and hurried off.

Lexa watched her walk away, a quiet rage stirring in her heart. If one of them was doomed, she wouldn't let it be Costia. If the demons were real, she'd handle them. 

Somehow. 

* * *

She got her Physics test back on Wednesday, a 'C' to prove that she'd better study harder. None of her Others had been well educated. None of them had lived long enough to teach themselves. _This time, at least, I'm not cheating._ Not like languages or Old World history classes, and even Modern History hadn't been hard so far. (She refused to think what she'd do in Comp Apps without Wells.) Then of course, on Thursday Mr. Ben returned their Algebra II tests. Lexa's was marked "C+". Better than she expected. 

Angry red marks covered Murphy's test, along with a triple-underlined "See me after class!" at the top. He grinned as he waved it at her, then again at Mr. Ben's exasperated disappointment.

"Murph," she said, packing up, "that's kind of impressive."

He nodded vigorously. "I know, right?"

"John!" snapped the teacher, and Murphy saluted. "See you in the afterlife, Kryptonite." 

"Dork." She left him to his fate.

In the stairwell Costia said "So, you and Murphy, huh?"

"We're going to the dance. That's all it is." She shoved open the second floor door and held it for Costia.

"Still."

"He's a nice guy." 

"If you say so," Costia replied, picking at her necklace. A beat later, as Lexa broke trail through the upper hall traffic, she asked "So how'd you do?"

"Huh?"

"The test?"

"Oh. C-plus. You?"

"A-minus. Made a couple dumb mistakes."

_Obviously, not as many as me._ "That's a nice lead in to something I've been meaning to ask. I'm better with math than computers, but I will need a study-buddy. Can you recommend anyone?"

Costia frowned. "Well, what about me? I can help. We're in the same class after all and we both have the same homework." 

"We do. You took Physics last year, right?

"Yeah, and got an A-plus. I can totally help."

"Thank you. That's why I asked. I mean, I didn't want to assume..."

"No, no, happy to help. I learn better that way too." 

They paused outside Modern History.

"So, I've got band stuff all week," Costia said, "but I'm done at 4:30 today. Maybe we could meet someplace after that and go over to my house?"

_Like 'meet my family'?_ "Uh, okay. I'll meet you at the front doors."

"What'll you do until then?"

Lexa shrugged, "Probably browse the shops on Idaho. My brother works at Kenny's Auto Parts."

"Oh. Awesome. Then I'll meet you there. Today, right?" 

She wondered how often people had made and discarded plans with her new friend. "Yes, Cos, today."

Costia lit up, eyes sparkling, braces glinting. "I'm so glad you came here."

~*~

At a quarter to five a white SUV parked in front of Lincoln's store. Lexa introduced Costia to her brother. He was stiffly formal. She acted completely tongue-tied. Lexa couldn't figure out how to get them to start an actual conversation, so she and Costia left the store.

"Well _that_ could have gone better," Lexa said as she buckled in.

Costia giggled and started the engine, "Sorry, sorry, it's just your brother's _huge_. And he's kinda cute."

"I think you're a little young for him."

They pulled away from the curb, heading southwest on Idaho.

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-three."

"Oh. No biggie. Do you have any other brothers or sisters? I have a sister, Zoe. She's a freshman."

"Nope. Just Lincoln." According to him, her conception had coincided with several good years in their parents' marriage. The good times hadn't lasted. By the time she started kindergarten Titus had begun drinking more and smiling less. Something bad had happened, something to do with her. Trying to remember what always made her queasy. She focused on Costia again, "So... did you freeze up 'cause Linc's cute or 'cause he's my brother?"

"I dunno, thirty/seventy split? I'm not good with guys."

Lexa gave an amused snort. "Are you going to the Homecoming dance?" 

"Yeah. Um... have you seen the library yet?" Costia thrust her arm past Lexa's face, pointing at the building to their right. The movement might've alarmed her if they weren't crawling at barely half the speed limit.

"I've seen it," she laughed, mentally comparing the gray stone building to a castle. It even had hidden gargoyle faces and a turret tower. "Can you go in the tower?"

"Uh-huh. There's a reading room at the top that's just right for two people. It's pretty neat up there, but a few years back it got converted to a special collections room 'cause the stairway is really narrow and now only employees can go."

"That sucks." An image popped into her head of Clarke secluding herself in that tower, of Costia climbing up to join her. She picked another topic. "Do you know Raven in your Psych class?"

Costia shot her an alarmed look, "Oh Light, that girl _scares_ me. I kinda knew her back in middle school, and she's just gotten crazier over time." She shivered. 

"Crazy how?"

"Let's start with Mrs. Carlin won't let her anywhere near the computer lab. Whatever she did, she did it her freshman year and now she's not allowed to touch a computer anywhere in the school. Her boyfriend is just as loony as she is. They both have this conspiracy persecution complex about alien takeovers and pod people and stuff."

"Yeah." Aliens or conspiracies had come up every lunch break, usually in combination. "What do you think of them?"

"I dunno, Paul is okay. His last name is Bacon so he got picked on until he joined the football team, plus African American is a definite minority in Montana. Raven used to get harassed about her mom, but now she's just scary and vindictive. Nobody messes with her."

Idaho ended at Orr. They doglegged to Washington Avenue, still at a snail's pace.

"Why'd she get harassed about her mom?"

"Her mom is bipolar, and, um, other bad stuff."

"Drug stuff?"

Costia gave a grim nod. "She's been to the hospital sometimes."

"How do you know?"

"Wells's dad works at the hospital. So does Clarke's mom."

"Oh."

"Yep. Plus my mom is a history teacher at the middle school and my dad is on the Terminus police." She smiled at Lexa's stunned expression. "_Yes_, I know a little about guns and police work, but I can't shoot straight to save my life. I flinch too much. Zoe's way better." 

Costia veered sharply left on Cornell to park in the wrong direction. "Anyways, you know all that six-degrees-of-separation stuff that's supposed to tie the whole planet together? Well, one degree takes you from my parents to anyone else in Terminus. We know people who know everybody."

Lexa tried to imagine that, and failed. They'd usually kept to themselves, moving when Titus made trouble or someone started an investigation. _Her dad is a cop?!_

The blonde was watching her again, gears turning behind her eyes. Out her window stood an off-white two-story house. Add a picket fence and it'd be perfect for an Eighties family show. 

"You live here?"

"Home sweet home." Costia clambered out, stumbling at the step down to the ground, and opened the backseat door.

Lexa hopped out and circled behind the SUV, pausing at two bumper stickers. "_Eve chose Knowledge!_" had to be the most heretical reading of Genesis she'd ever seen. Those three words upended the standard doctrine, from the role of women to the righteousness of God. She wasn't at all sure she understood the other sticker; "_A prison becomes a fortress if / We All Work Together!_" Was Earth the prison? Or the Universe? Tiny Gnostic sun-crosses marked the upper corners of both. The fine print claimed copyright of the Church of One Light.

Lexa shook her head, mystified, and looked up when the backseat door slammed shut. In addition to book bag and purse, her friend carried a black rectangular instrument case. Costia met her eyes with a neutral expression, as wary as Lexa had ever seen her. 

_She's worried I'll go off about the stickers._ In a casual tone, she asked "What do you play?"

"Clarinet," Costia chirped, happily animated again. She flipped her hair to show off silver earrings. They could be clarinets. 

_Band geek goofy._ "Sweet, I like them." No trace of envy in her tone. She'd mostly come to terms with the fact that as soon as she removed any piercing, it closed with barely a mark.

Costia preened for a moment, then led her to the house. 

A pair of mature maples flanked the brick walkway. Most of the leaves had already dropped. The lawn was a greenish yellow, short but thick. In front of the door, a mat offered "Welcome, Friends." Costia ushered her into a living room and unloaded onto a sofa, then typed a code into a keypad beside the door. 

Lexa gripped her backpack straps, reminding herself not to gawk, afraid to touch. Directly ahead, a dinner plate-sized brass sun-cross hung above the archway to the kitchen, so perfectly burnished that it glowed golden. A smaller sun-cross hung above a stairway to the right. The living room spread out on her left, complete with fireplace at the far end. The rug appeared freshly vacuumed, nothing dusty or out of place. Framed photographs of the Sinclair family decorated the walls. In every one, all four of them appeared radiantly happy. Several photos included possible grandparents, Wells, or Clarke and her family. Clarke had two siblings, Lexa noted, a younger brother and a sister, but she kept her distance to avoid looking too closely; their personal lives weren't her business.

Costia waved her into the startlingly clean kitchen. At the center was a wooden island on casters. A four-panel window looked out at trees and the yard, surrounded by a wooden privacy fence. To her right, two thick cottonwoods supported a weathered rope hammock. A black dog lay sprawled on the lawn in a pool of late afternoon sunshine. 

This was a perfect middle class home. Lexa'd never imagined the gap between her life and Costia's could be so vast.

"My parents should be home by six. Would you like to stay for dinner?" Costia sounded hopeful. 

Without turning from the window Lexa mumbled something noncommittal. 

"What was that?"

She spun to lean against the sink counter. Costia stood at the island, pouring milk into two clean, unchipped glasses. She offered one. Lexa accepted and said "Let's go over my tests and get the homework done first."

"Kay," and Costia was watching her again, seeing too much. Which was funny given how oblivious she usually seemed, as if she had social tunnel vision. The blonde circled a half-wall countertop to the dining room table, set her glass on a woven placemat, and went back to the living room.

Lexa pulled out a chair -- dark stained wood, antique-ish, creaking as she moved it -- and carefully sat at the matching table. She wouldn't be able to write on the woven mat. Not using it could scar the wood. Costia's solution was two vinyl Loony Toons mats, childhood holdovers. Costia's was Wile E. Coyote chasing Roadrunner with a knife and fork. Lexa got Jilly Barnburner the Stunt Duck, trailing flames and black smoke from her biplane. 

They worked steadily. Costia patiently explained each of Lexa's Physics mistakes. By the time they finished reviewing, the dog, Morwen, was whining and yipping at the sliding glass door. Costia let her in, requiring another keypad entry. Morwen immediately greeted Lexa, nosing her elbow. Lexa scratched her floppy ears and asked "Why do you need an alarm system?"

" 'Cause, um..." Costia lifted the slim gold chain from her blouse, dangling the white-gold sun-cross. "And some other stuff, too."

_Stuff like being best friends with Clarke._ "It's that bad?"

"Sometimes," Costia mumbled, tucking her necklace.

"Who? The Oh No's? Finn? Is it that guy who jumped Wells?"

Costia gently covered Lexa's fist, "Terminus is a conservative town."

"That's how it _starts_," she nearly snarled, but the tension in Costia's shoulders convinced her to let the issue drop.

They moved on to Algebra. Morwen rested her muzzle on Lexa's lap, nudging at each pause in petting or scratching. They'd nearly finished when the front door opened and shut. Someone typed on the pad. 

"Costia?" a high voice called, and a skinny, barely-teenage girl entered the kitchen. Lexa recognized her from the photographs.

"What is _she_ doing here?!" Zoe said. 

Costia locked eyes with her sister. "She's _my friend_. We're doing homework. What's it look like?"

"Better not be a mistake," Zoe muttered, yanking open the refrigerator. 

"Zoeee..." Costia pleaded, and Lexa tried to appear innocuous. 

The girl ignored her sister, grabbing an apple and carrot from the fridge before pounding up the stairs. Somewhere above them a door slammed shut.

Lexa bit her lip, debating, then asked "Did I do something wrong?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Costia said, then more gently "You did nothing wrong."

"Didn't sound like she'd agree."

Frowning, Costia fidgeted with her pencil. "Zoe's kinda protective. Her best friend is Aden Griffin, Clarke's little brother. My family and the Griffin's and Wells are all really close, and Clarke hasn't made up her mind about you. She thinks you're impulsive and volatile and that worries her."

Lexa chuckled darkly, heart falling. "She's dead on. Add 'hopelessly idealistic' and 'techno-idiot' and she's got all my weaknesses covered."

The front door opened again, this time to a man's affectionate "Cos? Zoe?" and a woman's "Girls! Bags on the couch _again_!"

"Dining room!" Costia yelled back, eyes on Lexa. She squeezed her hand before jumping up, not quite tripping from the chair, and greeted her parents as 'Daddy' and 'Mom', wanting assurances that her father hadn't had any 'adventures' today. He hadn't -- just more computer upgrades. Zoe came down from her bedroom, sounding reserved. Her friends had been teasing her, she told her mother. Having Aden stand up for her hadn't exactly helped.

Lexa silently drifted to the edge of the kitchen to watch. Surprisingly, Morwen ignored the commotion in the living room, instead following her to the archway to nuzzle her hand. Absently, Lexa resumed ear-scratching, attention locked on the armed, armored policeman. 

He saw her. Their eyes met. 

Her chest clenched. Her feet wouldn't move. He'd arrest her if he noticed the knife in her sweatshirt pocket. _What's dad done this time?_ echoed in her mind, then _I was only protecting my friend,_ and the ever-present warning, drummed into her from kindergarten, _If you tell, they'll take you _away.

Seconds later Costia saw her, then Zoe and their mother, too. There had to be something stricken about her expression because soon Costia was hugging her close, Mrs. Sinclair and the police officer looked concerned, and even Zoe softened. Once she was breathing evenly again, Costia announced "This is Lexa, the friend I told you about who protects us in Gym," followed by more story reminders, even of little things that she probably _had_ done but didn't remember. The way Costia told it, Lexa had been a guardian angel for her, Clarke, and a dozen others since day one. 

And maybe she had, as at other schools. Reacting the only way she could, without thinking twice. But as nice as it would be to believe otherwise, nothing she'd done had been about them. Not personally. If she stayed they might figure that out. _Costia_ might figure it out.

Introductions felt anticlimactic after the monologue of her deeds. Costia proposed spaghetti for dinner. Officer Sinclair retreated down the hall to change. "I should go," Lexa muttered. Mrs. Sinclair -- "Please, call me Jessica, or Jess," --overheard and insisted she was welcome to stay. They were used to teenage guests and she wouldn't eat more than Wells or Clarke, would she? 

So she was trapped. They moved to the kitchen. Mr. Sinclair returned in jeans and a flannel shirt, began combining cans of tomato products, and "Do you mind if this is vegetarian?" Lexa shook her head, but the idea was weird. Mrs. Sinclair chopped vegetables while gently inquiring about her experiences in school and settling in. Even Murphy came up, as "your new boyfriend". _Not that simple._ She answered only enough to avoid rudeness. None of the questions were about her past or her parents. Costia really had told her family _everything_. 

And they were all nice, so absurdly _nice_, to her _and_ to each other. It made her even more anxious that she couldn't detect any underlying tension. No one cussed. No one so much as raised a voice in anger or frustration. Their laughter sounded genuine. The only fuse burning was the one inside her. She didn't belong here. She had to escape. 

Lexa yanked on her sweatshirt. A minute later she grabbed her backpack and excused herself as if headed for the bathroom. Costia intercepted her at the door. 

"Please stay for dinner?"

"I- Costia, I _can't_." Her friend's eyes filled with undisguised hurt, so she added "I'll meet you tomorrow for homework. We can use an open classroom or something. Okay?"

"I won't have time. I've got the football and volleyball Homecoming games tomorrow night and Saturday morning." 

She studied the sunlight outside, deciding _I'll walk home_. 

"Lexa, wait. Let me drive you." 

"No!" She clutched the doorknob. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Kay," Costia said forlornly, "see you tomorrow."

Lexa started walking, glad to see that the sun was still a fingertip's width above the hills. The wind merely felt cool with an impending front. _Bad weather tomorrow_, she guessed. _Enjoy it now_. She contemplated returning to her empty house or calling Lincoln or Murphy, but really she didn't want company or total isolation. Instead she wandered the town, uncaring that almost everything had closed for the day, content to have people nearby who didn't expect anything from her. Her thoughts drifted to Murphy, to Costia. To Clarke. 

_She's afraid of me._ Maybe she should point-blank ask 'Do you want me to keep looking out for you?' A 'yes' would justify everything. If Clarke said no and she withdrew her protection -- or moved away, always likely -- the cheerleaders would vent their pent up frustrations at Clarke. The harassment would be worse than ever. Costia, though, clearly appreciated her help, maybe even needed it. 

_I _so_ need a distraction._

The sky had faded to darkest blue, now filling with stars between scattered purple clouds, and the air cooled. The bars were open. She walked to Bannack Street and across the railroad. The neon red "Hotel Bolton" sign beckoned. Geeky to admit it, and maybe her mind had been twisted by too many weirdly historic dreams, but old buildings fascinated her.

Tonight she noted two black-and-chrome cruiser motorcycles and a white four-door pickup in front. Through the bar's window, past the beer signs, she glimpsed two rotund patrons on stools. Neither appeared threatening. 

The double-door main entrance was locked, so she tried a secondary door to the right. It opened to the bar and a gust of warm air. She went inside.


	12. Cancer, Frost, and Lightning

Country music played throughout the room. The barstool patrons were an overweight couple in their fifties, both in black leather biker gear. They gestured with beer bottles, telling the pretty barista about snowy weather on the Idaho-Montana border. 

At the far end of the room, beyond the bar, a couple danced swing in a mirrored space. The man was attractive in a rough, rugged sort of way, probably a cowboy from one of the local ranches. He reminded her of Bellamy, a little -- lean and athletic, except with russet hair and dark eyes. His date could've been a western wear fashion model, in white blouse, worn denim jacket & skirt, white riding boots. Her hair was ash blond, streaming out with every movement. 

They danced well. Not perfectly, yet perfectly in sync. They swung out to arms' length, whirled back, spun under and over and into each others' arms. He tossed her into the air, catching her waist as her feet touched down. His eyes never left her face. Hers were closed as often as open, enthralled by their motion. Several times they went a bit too fast and her boots slipped, but his hands were always there to steady her. They never missed a beat.

"Hon, I think you're a bit young to be in here," the biker woman said with a distinct Southern twang.

Lexa startled, flushing. She nodded quickly and looked the other way. 

Opposite the bar, a woman slouched at a table by a side window, mixed-ethnic features and smooth skin the light brown of coffee with cream. In thick ringlets her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, draping a leather bomber jacket that had to be uncomfortably warm in here. Under that, a tight burgundy shirt and low-rise jeans accentuated her hourglass figure. Her left hand clutched a bottle of whiskey, a bare two fingers remaining. 

Slowly, the woman's head turned. She gazed straight into Lexa with smoky dark eyes that didn't blink. Her full lips didn't smile or frown or even twitch. Her expression revealed no emotion Lexa that could recognize, seeming vastly older than the youth of her body. Something about her felt maimed or cancerous, as if she carried a disease of the soul. 

Lexa shivered and broke eye contact. She glanced at the couple -- still lost in each other, slowing as the song ended -- and hastily left the old hotel. 

She jogged toward home, folded knife in one hand, backpack straps gathered in the other, irrationally relieved to get away from the creepy, drunk probably-a-prostitute and her eerie dead eyes. West of the overpass, past the streetlights, she let her pace slow. The stars were pristine and the Milky Way's arc was obvious. She should enjoy the night. There was no reason for the roiling in her gut. 

The couple tugged at her thoughts. She'd never seen a pair so in tune with each other without wrinkles or gray hair, but those two couldn't have been more than twenty-five, tops. Even as high school sweethearts, that gave them only ten years together, and realistically more like five. Their dance had been too improvised, too lighthearted to be professionals, yet they'd made it look effortless. _How could people barely older than me dance like they'd been together for decades?_ The question made her stomach churn.

An out of place sound broke her reverie. _Footsteps?_ No, the road stretched empty in both directions. It wasn't the gurgle of the river to her right. Perhaps she'd heard the wind rustling dead leaves and grass? To her left, south, she'd reached the edge of the thin forest; the field was still visible beyond the roadside trees. Skin prickling, she unfolded her knife and hid her hand in her sweatshirt pocket, blade reversed against her wrist. Home was only a quarter mile away.

A hundred yards from the bridge, with the small triangular park to her right and woods to her left, she heard the sound again.

A giggle. High and soft. Girlish. 

The road back to Terminus was empty, not even a glint of headlights between her and the interstate. It had to be a couple making out in the woods. Had to be. She shifted her grip on her knife, ready to stab.

Turning, her gaze locked onto a man standing between her and the bridge. She couldn't make out his features. He started toward her. From his rolling gait she guessed he wore boots. _The cowboy dancer?_ Yes, _it's him,_ gut instinct told her. She'd figure out the _why_ later. Where was his partner?

Her heart went into overdrive. The guy felt _wrong_. Broken. To get ahead of her he must have run faster than her, through the woods in the moonless dark and without causing a racket to tip her off. No one she knew was that stealthy. Not outside her dreams. She spun on her heels to sprint back to Terminus, to Costia, and every hair stood on end. 

A dozen yards away, a figure crouched at the edge of the road, positioned to intercept if she ran for town or south into the woods. The distant streetlights silhouetted curly hair stirring in the wind. The woman's aura felt stronger now, distinctly malignant, identifying her as clearly as the bar's lights had. Whatever her profession or nature, it had to be far worse than prostitution.

The little park offered an escape route. By day it was a pretty sun-and-tree covered picnic area with wooden bench tables and the river on two sides. Now, she saw nothing but dense shadows and one lamp by the "Cornell Park" sign. There were a few run-down houses on the far side of the river. Lexa prayed someone was home. 

The roadside dropped six feet from shoulder to park level. Lexa sprinted across the road, screamed, and leapt. An instant after her feet left the ground, a hand caught her right ankle and yanked her from the air. Glimpsing the dancer woman's white shirt and hair, Lexa crashed to the dirt, tumbled, and lay stunned. Her entire left side ached, though her right hand still clutched her knife. She had to get up and run, NOW.

She staggered toward the river. The dancer woman loomed to her right, circling to cut her off, and Lexa threatened with her knife. Without warning her sweatshirt bunched at her throat and wrenched her back so hard the fabric tore. She staggered and twisted to stab whoever had grabbed her hood, adding that force to her thrust. Her blade pierced the dark woman's bomber jacket and sank into her belly, but not deeply. The woman's flesh felt as tough as truck tires. An instant later they slapped together and cool flesh bumped her knuckles.

The woman gasped, exhaling whiskey breath into Lexa's wide eyes. "Nice try," she said, and clamped a hand around Lexa's wrist. 

Lexa jerked back and the knife came free, but the woman didn't let go. Instead, she smoothly kicked into her gut and rolled backward, sending Lexa skyward. Unyielding bark bludgeoned her head and shoulders, tumbling her end-over-end until the ground crashed up to stop her motion. 

_No,_ she thought, pulse surging in her ears_._ Anya had escaped worse fights than this. She rolled to her knees and crawled for the steepness of the road's shoulder, all too aware of the women behind her. Her hands touched pavement, then a sharp-toed boot. It jerked back from her touch.

"_Durnyja chalavieka_," the cowboy spat, and the sole of his boot rushed toward her face. White hot stars exploded in her eyes.

She came to on her back, nose throbbing and blood trickling down her throat. The ash blonde dancer knelt at her side, denim skirt brushing her shoulder. The park entrance lamp cast shadows of branches like stripes on her face. Close up, she had the same diseased brokenness as her companions. It was the same brokenness she'd sensed in dreams of demons, that Anya and Hanna and the others had felt in Audra. 

_In dreams_. Lexa visualized herself safe in bed and willed herself to wake up. _Wake, Lexa, wake UP!_

Nothing changed. 

The blonde caressed her cheek, then leaned close to kiss her forehead. Her expression was childlike, at once innocent and predatory. Her eyes looked hungry. 

"Shhhh..." she whispered. "Relax. Do not be afraid. Sleep, and the pain will all go away. You will have sweet dreams and wake light and happy. Sleep now..." She nearly sang the words, her voice soothing, enchanting. It made the pain seem unimportant. Lexa wanted to please her, to trust her and let go. After the void, she'd wake up safe and warm. 

She'd become some future girl's nightmare.

Her eyes shot open, gaze fixing on shifting shadows at the woman's mouth. Lips pulled in a hungry smile, her teeth seemed to be growing, sharpening, multiplying. Far too many white needles sprouted from her gums.

_They're Demons. My dreams were true. __Oh Goddess, help me!_ She inhaled to scream.

With joyous eyes and murder in her shark's grin, the blonde woman pounded a fist on Lexa's solar plexus. It struck like a baseball bat to her sternum. She felt a pop in her chest and lightning bolts of agony shot through every nerve, white static flaring in her vision. Her breath exploded out, and stayed that way as pain paralyzed her lungs. The world dimmed as she struggled even to gasp.

A black-winged blur collided with the cowboy and carried him out of sight. The woman let out a banshee scream, drawing two gleaming daggers from her boots, and launched after her boyfriend. Lexa stared after, unsure of her reprieve. The couple fought a third figure. 

Lexa sucked in one shallow, torturous breath, then another, deeper than the first. She rolled to hands and knees. Her arms collapsed, both too damaged to support her weight. Didn't matter. If she lived, she'd heal. She ordered herself to breathe through the pain. A few more wheezing breaths gave strength to shove to her feet.

Swaying, she turned to the park entrance light. The dark woman in the bomber jacket stood right there, blocking her escape. She reached for Lexa's throat.

Instinctively, Lexa swatted the grasping hand and rammed the heel of her right palm into the center of the woman's chest. Her whole arm juddered painfully with the impact, but the woman grunted and stepped back. Surprise spread over her face. A second later she retaliated with a leisurely series of punches and kicks that rapidly sped up. The woman's expression shifted from sneer to smirk to fierce grin as Lexa deflected or dodged as best she could to protect her head and vital organs. Every blow that got through felt like a hammer, as if the woman's fists and feet were iron. A moment later she launched a lightning-fast kick into Lexa's gut. The force of it bent her in half, intestines trying to burst into her throat. Then a lumpy pillar smacked her spine, halting her motion. Branches shook. Lexa crumpled in a heap at the base of the tree, struggling just to get air back into her lungs. Dry leaves drifted past her eyes. She waited for a killing blow. 

It never came.

Instead, the woman sprinted _away,_ toward the park's gravel entrance ramp and the road to Terminus.

The thing that had fought the dancer couple blurred past, trailing bitterly cold air and glittering powder. It tackled the woman into a tree beside the park sign, gouged long claws into her upper back, and ripped out a length of her spine. The woman went limp. With no obvious effort the thing popped off her head. 

It was all over in a second.

The entrance lamp's glow made it hard for Lexa to pretend she hadn't seen. So she looked away, into the shadows of the rest of the park. Toward the other bodies. Both lay headless, sizzling and melting under faint colorless flames. The heads rested several feet away, also burning.

The thing, _it_, stepped closer. Its aura felt utterly different from the other three. Not broken or hollow or diseased, but whole, and powerful, and absolutely corrupt. It felt the way she imagined a fallen archangel would feel, or the Grim Reaper itself.

Lexa snorted blood, swallowed and gasped, certain that the creature stared into her very soul. When she lifted her gaze, it was to meet a vaporous blackness that thickened toward solidity around its eye sockets. If it had eyes, that shifting blackness concealed them.

Not 'it'. The thing was a woman, sort of. It had a woman's shape. 

The claws had vanished. They'd been something like bony steak knives on her fingertips. Blood and... other things covered her hands, but they were woman-shaped hands. 

The rest of her appeared disturbingly ordinary. Wind-tossed light hair, a beat up denim jacket over a black shirt, slashed black leather pants. Her feet were bare. 

Sparkling dust covered her skin, clothes, and hair, as if she'd been in a snow storm. _Frost_, Lexa realized, _it's frost._ A dagger hilt protruded from the woman's chest. The point must be in a lung at least, and very close to her heart. She seemed unconcerned, or maybe even unaware of it.

Perhaps following Lexa's gaze, the shadow-eyed woman glanced down. She casually drew out the dagger. Tarry ooze coated the blade. The woman/thing tossed it into the river.

"What are you?" the woman asked, voice rough as a veteran smoker. "Why were they hunting you?"

Lexa only stared. She couldn't make sense of the questions.

The woman cocked her head as if trying to remember something. "Lethhe?"

A fragment of a dream sparked in Lexa's mind. She stood beside a wood plank wall of a building, raising a lantern to illuminate a woman (_this__ woman?_) who had come to find her, to ask for something she desperately wanted. Her name might have been Ninevah. A third person (a dear friend, a lover?) stood behind and beside Lexa's phantom self. Above the three of them shone more stars in a darker sky than she'd ever seen in waking.

"Ninevah?" Lexa croaked, and the entrance lamp began flickering wildly.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!"

The shadow-eyed woman took two steps back before looking toward the voice. Clarke stood in the parking lot, feet apart, hands raised together in a cone. The air hummed with a rising sound more felt than heard. Ultraviolet radiance blossomed between her hands, erupting as a bolt of purple-black lightning. 

The bolt struck Shadow Eyes full in the chest, arcing across her skin and out her back, into a tree behind her. Sparking flames engulfed both strike points. The trunk exploded. Lexa balled up as the shock wave hit, but no bright light seared through her eyelids. She felt no heat, only a hail of splinters and a series of wooden cracks followed by a big splash. When the sounds stopped, she peeked between her hands.

The park entrance lamp flickered and stabilized. Under its light Shadow Eyes stared down at herself, nude but for partial pant legs clinging to her calves. Deathly pale, her skin held a hypothermia victim's blue tinge. Her body was curvy, even looked a little soft, not at all a match to the inhuman strength she'd shown. Scattered cuts and scrapes oozed the same black ichor that had been on the dagger. She laughed disbelievingly, full breasts shaking as she looked from Clarke to Lexa to the tree and back to Clarke. They stared at her in equal surprise. The tableau broke when she half-crouched, then launched like a rocket into the park to be swallowed by its shadows. Leaves swirled in her wake. In her footprints, deep gashes marked the tip of each toe. 

Lexa slowly blinked. The dark woman's body and detached head quietly burst into pale gray flames. She focused on the other girl, puzzled. "Clarke?"

Clarke Griffin unsteadily approached, sparing a long glance for the burning body. Her irises gleamed an icy white. She wore an ankle-length skirt with a sweater of the correct size, both in dark colors. Her hair draped her shoulders, loose and exposed. Strange. 

"Oh, _Vördhr_," she muttered, crouching beside her. Then, less quietly, "Lexa, how badly are you hurt?"

"I dunno." Talking hurt, everything hurt. Despite it all, she felt something like numb, everywhere. Even her mind felt numb, as if she simply observed from outside her body. _This must be shock. It's nice. Much better than hysterics._

"Where's your phone? We should get you to the hospital."

"No!" Lexa hissed, wincing at the pain that ripped through her torso. She gulped blood and whispered, "No hospital. I'll heal."

Clarke looked her over. Lexa couldn't decipher more than dismayed concern.

"No hospital. No one can know. Get me home."

"All right. Can you stand?"

She grunted doubtfully. "Are... are you a witch?"

"I don't know what I am." Clarke swept her hair aside and eased Lexa's right arm across her shoulders. The strands felt silky soft. She lifted and Lexa tried to stand with her. Her ribs were agony. Looking downward made her nose throb and drip. Clarke had to support most of her weight. 

"Where do you live?"

"Cross the bridge, 'n left."

They shuffled past the sign to the parking lot, then up the shoulder to the road, each trembling with the effort. Whatever Clarke had done had taxed her, too. They stumbled across the bridge and on to Lexa's gravel driveway. 

At the door Lexa discovered that her hands were too damaged to function. She fumbled for a minute before Clarke understood. "It's fine," she murmured, and shifted half behind Lexa. The other girl's hand slid into her pocket. Lexa shivered as she fished out the key. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, thinking _No,_ but only wheezed brokenly.

Clarke half-carried Lexa to her room. They eased down to her bed to rest, then Clarke carefully removed her outer clothes. Mom's hands had never been this gentle. Not once in all her memories. She licked her split lips. Clarke paused, gleaming eyes hovering over her face. Fingertips ghosted through her hair above her right ear, soothing and tingly nice when everything else hurt. Her breath escaped in a ragged sigh. Clarke repeated the caress.

Finally feeling safe, Lexa allowed her eyes to close.

~*~

"...dra? Lexa? _Mín Vördhr_, please, please wake up." The voice sounded distraught, perhaps even terrified, counterpoint to the tentative touches on the side of her face.

Everything ached like she'd been beaten. She tried to remember what she'd done this time. Frowning hurt, but... _Oh. Not just a nightmare._

She couldn't breathe through her nose at all. Her right eye wouldn't open. Her left eye focused on a pair of luminous blue-white rings floating above her. _Clarke's eyes._ _Like night lights. So pretty. She's always so, so pretty. _Diffuse starlight lit the room. She lay on top of her bedspread, now covered by a blanket.

Clarke let out a relieved sigh and asked "Do you remember what happened?" 

_The demons are real. _"Mmm, I 'member," Lexa said with swollen lips. _The Shadow-Eyed Woman (Ninevah?) saved me from them. Then you protected me from her. With purple lightning._ The pain of her ribs turned her giggle into a gasp. Maybe she was still in shock, or she had a concussion, because none of it frightened her. May as well remember a scene from one of her comics. 

Quietly, Clarke said "I did what I could for your nose. Several of your ribs are badly bruised and possibly cracked. Your hands, right wrist, and left elbow are swollen, although I couldn't detect any fractures. Is there anyone you trust to take care of you?"

_Mom would freak. Linc... too risky._ "No. No one." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Clarke looked away. _She's going to leave._

"Please don't go," she wheezed, for once not caring how helpless she sounded. "I don't want..." _to be alone__._ "What if there're more?"

"There aren't, and I have to check the scene before the police discover it. I'll call you when I get home." Clarke faced her, irises gleaming almost catlike, yet round. "Lexa, please don't tell _anyone_ about me. Don't say anything to anybody you don't completely trust."

"I know. I won't."

~*~

She woke again to the ringing of her phone. It rested on her night table, beside her knife. Her aching hands fumbled to answer. 

" 'Lo?" Her right eye opened a fraction. 

"Lexa?" Clarke's voice, soft and worried.

"S'me," she croaked. 

"How are you? Should I send someone?" Very worried.

She snorted, coughed, and swallowed thick blood, but her nose had begun healing. "No. I will be fine. You okay?"

"I'm home." A pause, then "I'm glad you're safe, Lexa." 

"You, too." 

The call ended. She noticed her backpack beside the bed. Had Clarke come back while she slept? Of course she had. Of course she'd check on her. The thought comforted her. Exhaustion dragged her back to the void.


	13. New Scars

_She lay on her back, wrists and ankles bound by leather straps. Above her head and beyond each outstretched arm, three pyres blazed high and hot. Within each, a human form blistered, crackled. The stench of burning meat filled the air. _

_Beside her, a priest watched the sky through a tiger's gaping jaws, between the ten-inch blades of the skull's canines. A magnificent rack of antlers spread from the tiger's skull to claw the black disk of the sun. The priest's body was bare except for the tiger's skin cloak and a feather-skirted loincloth. He raised a foot-long obsidian dagger, shot through with silvery-blue flaws. _

_The dagger descended. It pierced her left breast and slide icily between her ribs. She felt the blade split her heart, felt the moment it pricked from her back into the stone altar. The priest chanted in praise of her sacrifice. _

_The blade slid free. Blood jetted from her chest and into her lungs. It gushed up her windpipe, out her nose, driving out the pyre scents. Above the priest's antlers the sky dimmed. The black sun bloated to engulf the world._

  
  


Lexa choked herself awake, suffocating and unable to draw air through her clogged nose. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Damp sheets clung as she sat up. Immediately her nose felt better. Her bra felt crusty, gross. Had she been stabbed? Her hand went to her left breast. It felt bruised, tender. So did her ribs. The antlered shaman had been a dream, just a crazy dream. Her wounds weren't. The crust was dry blood from her mashed nose, because it had bled all over her shirt. A booted foot had stomped her face. _That cowboy._ They'd nearly killed her.

Memories flooded back; three demonic drifters, a creature with shadows for eyes, and Clarke, her savior. _Oh Goddess. Please, don't let it all be real. Don't let _them_ be real._

But her body gave proof. Her legs nearly collapsed getting out of bed, she felt so shaky. That faded some as she leaned against her bookcase, gasping, gulping against the urge to scream. _Don't be weak, _she told herself, _not today._ Lexa staggered to the bathroom, trembling as she stripped and showered. One new scar shouldn't be there. She blanked it out, told herself it couldn't be real and focused on other injuries. Her hands felt arthritic. They struggled to pull up her jeans, then fumbled at buttons and clasps. At least her nose had returned to its proper shape, though its throbbing brought tears to her eyes whenever she faced downward. The bruising had faded to the color of dead grass, not too hard to conceal with foundation and eye shadow. She pressed on, thinking _I need to see Clarke._

Clarke would make everything better. The Nordic girl wouldn't stay home because she'd know they needed to talk. Get through Algebra, meet in History. They'd skip classes together. Clarke would explain whatever she'd done, what she knew, and why she'd been there at all. Somehow, miraculously, everything would make sense.

She arrived at school to discover a rose duct tapped to her locker. A folded notebook sheet protruded from the vent: "Girls like flowers, right? I'm looking forward tto Saturday." No signature, Murphy's messy scrawl was distinctive enough. _Right, Homecoming Game is tonight. The dance is tomorrow._ She moved the rose to the inside of her locker, worrying now what daydreams might've taken root in Murphy's head.

In homeroom she spotted Costia's usual Jitters coffee and frizzy, dirty-blond hair bent over a textbook. Lexa psyched herself to talk about Murphy and Homecoming. Even Algebra or Physics. Anything but last night. It didn't work. Her friend's sunshine smile dimmed as Lexa sat beside her. A moment later Costia covered her hand and said "Oh Light, what happened?"

Lexa nearly lost it. Costia's open concern cracked the shocked trance she'd managed so far, forcing her to realize how close she was to a complete breakdown. She couldn't let that happen. Not here in homeroom. Not in front of her classmates. By lunchtime the whole school would know something bad had happened to her. She'd look weak.

"I... I can't talk about that," she heard herself say with an even, emotionless tone.

"Kay..." Costia said, now sounding deeply worried.

Lexa shut her eyes and crossed her arms and ankles, attempting to appear sleepy. The pressure of her arms eased the throbbing of her sternum and ribs. Five were definitely fractured; mere bruising would have stopped hurting by now. The pain gave her a focus to drown out everything else. By the time the bell rang, she'd shut down enough to resume her mask for Algebra.

Murphy greeted her at the door with a lazy smile and a hopeful look in his eyes. His lips twitched as if he might try to kiss her, and with a hard gulp she looked away, saying "Thanks for the rose. That was sweet, Murph."

"Cool," he said, and spent the period sketching portraits of her.

Sitting beside him helped her pretend she was fine. By the end of class she felt almost normal. Then Algebra ended and all her thoughts whirled around Clarke.

The back corner desk was empty. Costia didn't seem surprised.

Those two facts exploded into the certainty that Clarke had stayed home today. After last night of course she had. She'd been deluding herself to think otherwise. But that meant Lexa wouldn't be able to talk about the couple and the woman at the Hotel Bolton, or being attacked, or the woman/creature with darkness for eyes, or 'Lethhe' and 'Ninevah'. She wouldn't be able ask Clarke how she'd made that purple lightning, or have Clarke ask how she'd healed almost overnight. She wouldn't find out _why_ any of it had happened to _her_.

"Miss Woods, are you all right?"

With a jolt Lexa realized she'd gone from semi-normal to stoic brooding to erratic gasping breaths. Classmates stared as if she were some mutant animal. Ontari and Octavia's smirks promised everyone would know by lunch. The empty desk beside Costia only reinforced the fact that she was alone. Lexa bolted from the room.

The nearest restroom was blessedly empty. She hid in the stall farthest from the door, dropped to the bleached floor and backed into a corner. Then, finally feeling a little less exposed, she locked her arms across her shins and began to rock. Her breaths were shuddery, uneven. Her nose and ribs ached so that every breath hurt. Her left elbow felt stiff and weak.

She had a new scar on the inside of her left breast, exactly over her heart.

If that much was real, if a dream could manifest a permanent mark on her flesh, where did it end? Was it all true? She'd rather be insane. Then everyone else would be safe.

Hysteria pressed behind her eyes.

"Lexa, are you in here?"

She startled at Costia's voice, banging her head on the metal bar above it. She hadn't heard the door open, did hear it slap shut. Footsteps moved towards her. The stall door swung wide. Her friend looked her over.

"Mind if I join you?"

Lexa rubbed her head and gazed up, uncomprehending.

Costia sat beside her. "Well, at least you picked the one with floor space." She waved at the wheelchair access sign on the stall door.

"I wasn't thinking about that." _Damn, I sound rough._ She unrolled a handful of toilet paper to wipe her eyes. Limited mascara mess so far.

"Kudos anyway."

"Costia, why are you here?" The words came out angry. She didn't have the energy to take them back.

"Because I am your friend."

Lexa choked out a laugh that became a sob. The frizzy blonde girl didn't have a clue what she was saying. She couldn't.

"Is there anything I can do?" Costia clasped her wrist, adding "Even if I don't know what you're going through, sometimes it's enough to just to be there, to show the other person they're not alone, and to listen to whatever they're ready to say. So here I am."

"Here you are," Lexa croaked.

Costia shifted to her knees and wrapped her in warm arms tight enough that her ribs protested, but Lexa didn't move. Today, Costia smelled like blueberries. So much like Clara, holding her through nightmares, loyal to the bitter end. A strangled gasp ripped from her chest, then it all sank in and she was sobbing.

_The demons are real. They'll find me. It will happen again_. If she didn't surrender, they'd go after everyone she cared about. Mom. Lincoln. Murphy. Clarke.

_Costia._ The first real friend she'd had since Luna in seventh grade. _They'll go after Costia to get to me, just like Clara for Hanna. Titus was right. I _am_ cursed._

Costia scooted closer, drawing Lexa's cheek to her shoulder. Distantly, Lexa recognized that she was scaring the other girl with the intensity of her tears. She made an effort to calm herself, if only because the wracking sobs aggravated the burn of her ribs.

"I think I know why you had to leave," Costia said quietly. "It wasn't just 'cause Dad was in his uniform. 'House' isn't 'home' for you, is it? Your life is more like Murphy's."

Lexa pushed away, blinking to see past her tears. Her face felt puffy. Her cheeks had to be streaked with mascara and eye shadow -- what hadn't rubbed off on Costia's blouse, anyway. "You don't know a thing about my life."

"But I want to," Costia said cautiously, "because you're still my friend and you're not alone."

With a ragged sigh Lexa shut her eyes in frustration. Her friend enveloped her in another hug, and what little composure she'd regained shattered. _Not alone_, she repeated to herself. She couldn't quite believe it, although by the end-period bell she felt drained enough that she wouldn't embarrass herself again.

She washed her face and dried it, raised her head. The mirror reflected a frightened girl with blotchy cheeks and puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She looked so vulnerable without makeup. Her naked face gave away far too much. The bruising around her nose, at least, had had faded to almost nothing.

With a gentle hand at the small of her back Costia returned her to Mrs. Bryant's room, suggesting Lexa wait by the door. Her friend had a brief, quiet conversation with the teacher and returned with both of their backpacks. Lexa shielded herself with her locker door to reapply her armor.

"I told her it was 'cause of your dad," Costia whispered. "Was that okay?"

"Fine," she mumbled, and looked away in realization. She hadn't come to school today in search of Clarke. She'd come here for Costia, for sunshine hugs and reassurance. Her friend had given freely, as always.

Costia escorted her to the computer lab, hovering until Lexa picked the back-corner workstation where Clarke usually sat. Then Costia latched onto Wells's arm and dragged him into the hall. A minute later they returned. Costia kissed her cheek with a "Mmwoah!" added a quiet "See you at Gym," and left. Lexa blinked away a fresh round of tears. _Thank you, Costia._

Wells crouched beside her chair, brown eyes unusually serious. "Would you like some company? 'No' is a perfectly valid answer."

Lexa chuckled hollowly. She should scare him off for his own safety. Costia and Murphy, too. But later, when she didn't feel so fragile. "Yeah, that would be nice."

He claimed the workstation beside hers. "Let's see what games we can find today, hmm?"

~*~

By P.E. she felt almost normal, if very on-edge. She kept a sharp eye on the cheerleaders, ready to get in their faces if they so much as taunted a freshman. They didn't, although by Physics Ontari and Octavia had dubbed her The Butch Psycho Bitch. Fine with her. Maybe the label would buy her some peace and quiet.

Murphy drove her to Burrito Grande for lunch with Paul and Raven. Their banter touched on the football game tonight and the dance tomorrow, then sidestepped to whether any of the teachers could be hybrid aliens. Lexa waffled about Mrs. Schreiber and agreed that Indra had to be an alien, although without passion. None of it took her mind off the three demons, Shadow Eyes, or Clarke. Staring out at the overcast sky, she had to wonder if she'd imagined the purple-black lightning. Nothing like it -- or Shadow Eyes, for that matter -- had ever shown up in her dreams. Maybe Clarke had made some sort of lightning machine as a science project, and she'd hallucinated because of a concussion. A concussion could explain a lot.

"Hey, Xena!" Raven slapped the table in front of her, "whatever's..."

In a heartbeat Lexa was out of her chair, knife raised and ready to kill.

Murphy and Paul sat motionless, blinking along with several other Grande patrons. Raven laughed, eyes calculating, "You're making my _point_, Lex. Whatever's bugging you, slap it on the table and we'll beat it into shape."

Lexa took a deep breath. Her knife dropped an inch, a foot. The only threat she sensed was the Grande employees' wary attention. No demons. She folded her knife and returned it to her belt loop, under her sweatshirt and oversize tee. Everyone visibly relaxed. The aching of her ribs and nose returned as the adrenaline subsided. She sat down.

Paul cleared his throat, "Do you always carry a knife?"

She licked her lips. The first explanation that came to mind was "Only when cheerleaders are plotting my demise."

Murphy set his hand on her thigh. Instantly, Lexa tensed. Anya's ghost knew exactly how to grasp and twist his hand to break his wrist. A simple follow-up would dislocate his elbow. "Lexa," he said, "Atom doesn't hit girls, Finn's on Clarke's side hoping for a date, and the cheerleaders are afraid to touch you. You don't have to worry about gettin' jumped."

Raven leaned forward, chest pressing the edge of her platter. "That wasn't about the bimbos, was it, Xena?"

A stream of English and foreign curses rolled through Lexa's mind. She hissed "You can't tell _anyone_, got it?!" When they nodded, she gave them an old cover story, one exaggerated from the truth. "My dad used to gamble and he ripped off some loan sharks along the way. Maybe they'll give up now that he's dead, but I think some were in the mob. I figure better safe than sorry."

"You know their names?" Raven asked.

_Be convincing._ "No. All I know is-" Her throat constricted; this was close to being family business, which she she'd sworn never to share. "I've overheard a few calls, and we've moved two or three times a year since I was little. My mom denies everything, even though... Yesterday, I heard her on the phone saying that we moved to Phoenix, and she needs more time."

Raven studied her for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across her lips. She said to Paul "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

He eyed her breasts. "If it involves you naked and eighteen wild geese, then hell yeah."

Raven swatted his black tower of hair. While he grumbled and picked it back to vertical, she told Lexa "We're going to play Anywhere But Here, then Big Hair and I will make a bunch of fake versions of you and your mom."

_No way. I'm not this lucky._ "You can do that?!"

Paul tittered. "We gots the mad hacker skillz. And none of it has to look official. Three quarters name dropping for search engines, one quarter authentic details. It'll be fun."

"Wow." _They'll have to check every one to find me._ "Yes, please."

~*~

Murphy got out of the car with her. Together, they hurried through slushy drizzle to her porch. "I got today off," he said as she unlocked the door. "I'll keep you safe."

She ducked her head. The two hours she'd just spent inventing fake identities with Raven and Paul might keep her safe. She didn't see how Murphy could possibly protect her from the likes of the three demons or Shadow Eyes. Murphy was... she wasn't yet sure what he was to her. Not family. Not her boyfriend. Definitely not her guardian. In the end, she'd always be the one protecting others. Her life for theirs.

Her breath hitched and she thought, _I don't want to die._

"Got two hours 'till kickoff. Maybe I could distract you?"

She looked away, gazing out from the porch. Also two hours until sunset. Soggy flakes obscured the bluff across the road. Later, this would become snow. The night would be pitch black beyond the floodlights, though she'd be surrounded by people. By strangers. If she were hunting herself, she'd start at the Homecoming Game. "I don't want go to the game."

His wrapped an arm around her shoulders, breath far too close to her right ear as he drawled "Fine with me, Kryptonite." He opened the door, urging her inside and moving to follow.

She turned in the doorway and shoved him back. "I'm _gay_, Murphy. I'm not interested that way."

"I got it," he laughed, "I've seen you with Costia. I just kinda thought you wanted a beard."

Her eyes narrowed with disgust. "A _beard_?"

"A straight friend, like, to blend?"

Lexa shook her head. He had sort of guessed correctly. _Still._ "I've had a _really_ long week, Murph. Go have fun."

"Aw, come on, Lex, you just gotta relax. We'll have booze." 

"I don't 'gotta' do anything! Not for you, not for anyone! It's _my_ life and I will live it how _I_ choose, so don't you _dare_ assume you know better! Do you understand?"

He backed up, open hands raised in surrender. "Chill, a'right? Just chill. You still wanna go to the dance?"

Lexa fumed, deflating as his question sank in. _Tomorrow night._ "Yes."

"Cool." Murphy stepped close and she shut her eyes, stiffening slightly when he wrapped her in an awkward hug. Her nose wrinkled at the cigarette stink that saturated his clothes, but at least that cloaked his skin scents. Girls smelled so much nicer. Then he chuckled to himself.

"What?"

"Raven's got you beat for spitfire pissed, but you are so smokin' hot when you're mad."

With a snort Lexa pushed him firmly, if gently, away. "She's crazier than me."

"Duh," he said, finally taking a polite step back. "Pick you up tomorrow?"

She nodded. "My mom will ambush you for photos."

"Not if you come meet me."

"I want photos."

"Ah, that's how it is. You want one of those flower things too, I bet."

"Yes. Yes I do. A dark red please. And dinner at someplace nice."

"Way ahead of ya, Kryptonite."

Murphy left a minute later.

As he roared off, Lexa dead-bolted the door, then went around the house, triple checking that the back door and every window were locked. Several boxes and some clothes in Lincoln's room attested that he was slowly moving in. Seeing his stuff reminded her of his broken promises. A month ago. Years ago. Yesterday. He hadn't been there when she'd needed him most.

She confiscated a hatchet from an open box, a carving knife from the kitchen, and shut herself in her bedroom.

Time to call Clarke.

Several minutes of fiddling with her phone rediscovered the recent caller list. One call at 11:18 last night. That wasn't the number for the Ye home or JC's Diner. After half a ring it dumped her to a generic, nameless voicemail. She loathed voicemail. The line beeped.

"I... Clarke? Is this your number? I, uhm... This is Lexa. I need to talk to you. About what happened. So please call me." She ended the call and glared at her phone. _Brilliant message, as usual._

She fixed dinner, called again, watched TV for a while, left another message. Attempting to put 911 on speed dial killed most of an hour. Clarke didn't call back. Lexa taped knives to her wrists and ankles and went jogging in the sleet, phone in hand, called one more time when she got back. No response.

Direct to voicemail meant the phone was busy, right? Or was it off? Or what if Clarke had called from one of those burner thingies they talked about on cop shows?

"Stop being paranoid," she muttered, taking her phone and the carving knife to the bathroom, setting both on the toilet tank beside the bathtub. She started the water while brushing her teeth, stripped with her eyes closed to avoid the mirror, and showered with the lights off. Her ribs and nose remained tender. Everything else had healed.

Without conscious thought her fingers wandered to her left breast, to the puckered, silvery line that ran from sternum to areola. The scar tissue went all the way into the muscle and between her ribs. The nerves there were strange, as if it had wired itself to everything else in her torso. As if by touching it she reached inside her chest to prod her heart and lungs. A smaller mark between her spine and left shoulder blade caused the same disturbing sensations. The scar ran all the way through her.

Lexa forced her hands away. Even then, shower spray on either mark made her queasy and light-headed, as if her skin was contracting and soon would split open. She didn't want to know what lay underneath. Scales, maybe, or monster fur. It wouldn't be anything good.

Toweling off, she noticed a blue firefly bobbing in the foggy mirror. A ghostlight. It stilled when she did. The bathroom didn't have a window, only a ceiling vent, so it couldn't be starlight. A tightness in her throat, she swiped her towel across the mirror. The light was a line, barely the brightness of a glow-in-the-dark sticker. The line crossed her breast. She looked down.

The scar itself glowed silvery-blue.


	14. The Dance

Lexa awoke to her own mortally terrified mewing, to cold sweat and tangled sheets. Mom pounded on the door, yelling "Lexa, wake up! I gotta get some sleep."

The dream shattered. Her eyes opened to gray morning light, leaving only fragments. She'd been dancing, then fighting in a room so dark that her assailants had been featureless shadows, all inhumanly strong and swift as storm winds. One of them had thrust a sword into her side. Another had cracked her skull with a blunt weapon. When those hadn't killed her, someone had seized her throat with hands of iron and strangled her to death.

Earlier in the night she'd dreamt of those three drifters. This time, Clarke hadn't been there, or hadn't arrived in time to save her. Shadow Eyes had caught her in a headlock with arms of living ice, cold enough to sear on contact. Her icy, clawed hands had popped off her head like a bottle cap.

Lexa shook off both dreams, glad to forget, and briefly wondered what sounds she'd made. Often, Mom simply _knew_ when she had a nightmare, no screaming required. Deciding she didn't care, Lexa yelled back "I'm fine now! Go to bed, Mom!"

Receding footsteps answered her, and mutters about graveyard shifts.

Lexa sat up. Snow had collected on the window sill. Patchy white covered the meadow and riverbanks. She couldn't spot the horses. Her phone blinked at her. Murphy had sent a bunch of texts after the game, his spelling deteriorating with each one, inviting her to a victory party at the Winston ranch. He'd failed to mention where that was. _Whatever_, _long as he's sober by tonight._

She traded her sweat-soaked sleep shirt for running clothes, wolfed down two bowls of Nutty Nuggets, and left the house. The snow wasn't thick enough to cover the ground. On impulse, she picked the town as her direction, hyper-alert as she jogged past the little park, warmed by the time she reached the Hotel Bolton.

The white four-door truck hadn't moved. She peered through its dirty windows at blue vinyl seats, cracked in places, layered with gray duct tape in others. Behind the driver's seat, a quilt or bedspread covered a mound big enough to be luggage for several people, or two bodies, or a whole lot of contraband. The doors were locked. She contemplated breaking in, now or later, only to discard the notion. The truck sat in plain sight for the Bolton's windows, the railroad line, and the homes on the far side. Besides, she didn't want to contaminate a crime scene.

She set off again, jogging to The Ark Family Diner as if drawn there, arriving several minutes before opening time, and so circled to explore. An alley behind the building bisected the block, leading her to the diner's service door. Above that a stairway climbed to a gate in a wooden privacy fence. Weirdly certain that the Clarke was up there, watching from between boards, or at least aware of her, Lexa stood listening without quite daring to call out. She heard muffled voices from behind the service door, nothing at all from the hidden deck.

The restaurant had opened by the time she returned to the front. A bell above the door chimed as she went inside, taking in reds and golds and stained hardwood. The interior was a long, open rectangle, tables at the front, a buffet bar two-thirds back, booths to either side. A red-shirted hostess glanced at her and went on speaking with a family in a booth.

Lexa shifted from foot to foot, ignoring the "Seat Yourself" sign, certain that Clarke _felt_ her presence. Halls led backward from both rear corners -- right side to the kitchen, left hall marked "Restrooms".

Two young boys darted from their booth to the buffet. Their parents followed more sedately. The Latino hostess returned to the front desk. Her name tag read "Losho", and below that "Eloxochitl". After pause at Lexa's damp sweatshirt and leggings, she asked "May I help you?"

"Uh, yes, I'm here to see Clarke. Sort of. Could you tell her Lexa Woods needs to talk to her?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Griffin forbids such interruptions, but if you'd like to write a message, I assure you that it will reach her." She placed a pen and notepad in front of her.

Lexa chewed her lip. _What do I say? Hi Clarke, I just swung by to ask 'What the hell happened Thursday night?' or 'What did you DO?!' Or maybe 'Please talk to me.'_

"Losho, I'll handle this."

Lexa's attention snapped to a slim blond boy with rimless glasses, approaching from the Restrooms hall. He wore a gray polo shirt with newish blue jeans, casually classy. She'd seen him in the school. His features reminded her of Clarke's, pale Nordic, though without his sister's otherworldly beauty.

"Lexa, right?" The boy's sky blue eyes studied her with unnerving maturity.

"Mm-hmm." _What did Costia say his name was?_ "And you're...?"

"Aden Griffin. Let's talk over there." He nodded toward the back.

She followed to the Restrooms hall, noting that it connected to the service entrance and the kitchen. This close, aromas in the air made her salivate. The moment Aden turned, she blurted "I'm sorry to show up without a warning, but Clarke won't answer her phone or call me back and I- Is she okay?"

"First," Aden said patiently, "tell me how you got her number."

"She called me, and I'm sorry about all the messages but I really need-"

"Lexa, wait." He gestured _stop_. "I'm pretty sure you haven't done anything wrong. What's this about? Clarke won't tell me anything."

She stared at her feet. Her sneakers were dirty. She'd tracked muddy slush on their clean floor. "I'm sorry Aden. I can't tell you that. It's just, I'm not even sure it's her number, and I was hoping to leave a message that I know she'll get."

"All right," he sighed, "what's the message?"

Lexa straightened, faintly surprised to note that he wasn't much taller than her. His perfect composure added illusionary inches. She collected her thoughts.

"Please tell that Clarke I really, really, need to talk to her, but... But if it's what _she_ needs, I can wait a little longer. I'm ready whenever she is. She'll understand."

"I'll tell her," Aden said. "If she hasn't approached you by Wednesday, tell me and I'll see what I can do."

"I will. Thank you, Aden."

~*~

A handful of students occupied the gym's main hall, busily finishing preparations for the dance. The weight room, happily, was deserted. Lexa worked out on machines and free weights, but her mind wouldn't settle the way it usually did. Even pressing well beyond her usual limits, flashes of dreams and the last few days pricked her awareness. As best she could, she ignored them, cycling from station to station until her dominant thought became _I want meat._

Coming home from the supermarket, she summoned the courage to stop at the little triangular park. The snow looked pristine. Brown leaves still on their branches barely stirred, no sound but the river's gurgle. She readied her knife anyway. Skidding down the shoulder to the parking lot, she walked to the "Cornell Park" sign. In gray daylight, blanketed in white, she couldn't reconcile the place with her memories of Wednesday night. Only the fallen tree matched. When she swept aside the snow with her foot she found splinters all around. Some were charred at the tips, but not the trunk itself. Whatever Clarke's ultraviolet lightning had been, it had shattered an eight-inch trunk without burning it.

Crouching, Lexa carefully brushed powder from footprints. Some were her own tattered sneakers. Others were clearly boots. The deepest prints, pressed several inches into the packed dirt, were of bare human feet. Most of those showed distinct claw marks at the toes, up to two inches long.

She backtracked the clawed prints to a vaguely person-shaped depression near the park's center. The spot felt corrupted. Evil. She didn't want to go near it. The need to know lured her anyway. She toed snow from the body-print. The underlying leaves and dirt were black. Charred to ashes. In a strip across the middle she found the metal remains of a snub-nosed revolver, several half-melted keys, and a heavily corroded ornamental belt buckle. She backed away, recalling the way it had flashed in the hotel's disco room on the Cowboy's belt.

It had all happened. That night had really happened. She wasn't crazy.

~*~

Murphy arrived in an oversize black suit and electric blue tie, an outfit far classier than she'd expected. Even the certainty that he'd borrowed it -- probably from Finn or Bellamy -- didn't lessen the impact. "You clean up nice," she told him, "I like it," and ushered him into the house, grinning at his slack-jawed "Wow."

She'd blame part of that on the dress, a powder blue halter gown, because the look on his face went beyond appreciation. His eyes darted from the elaborate braids in her otherwise loose mane to her gown's flowing lines, suggesting something like wonder. She twirled once, glad she'd applied foundation to obscure the weird scars that had materialized on her chest and near her shoulder blade, trying to draw his attention to her matching strappy heels. His gaze never went below her calves. Seemed kind of stuck on the flow of her skirt, actually, on the shape of her hips and legs. It had to be the dress.

"Not a total tomboy, hmm?"

His attention returned to her face. He shook his head and made vowel sounds, bringing a happy smirk to her lips, then he stepped a bit too close. She glided two steps backward, out of reach, warning him with a look. He swallowed once and nodded. "You look... _stunning_."

"You too, Murph."

A throat cleared and Lexa glanced to her brother. Murphy gulped, eyes nervously downcast until Lincoln chuckled and hefted his camera in a clear suggestion.

Photos and small talk filled half an hour, Sydney directing and Lincoln as photographer. Afterward, Sydney pulled Lexa into the master bedroom to quietly ask if she had _everything_ she needed. The same topic had come up while doing her hair. Lexa bit her tongue not to snap at her mother -- _because seriously, ewe, no way --_ only to realize that this time was a distraction. Her brother had pulled Murphy into the kitchen for what she guessed was a warning speech.

Lexa pulled on her coat and grabbed the shell-and-beadwork purse her mother had supplied, just big enough for her folding knife plus mundane supplies. Calling goodbyes, she rescued Murphy from her brother. Together they rushed out the door.

Cold specks halfway between snow and micro-hail peppered her face on the way to his car. A carnation corsage rested on the passenger seat, red as the braid that streaked from behind her left ear. "Good choice," she told him, and slipped it onto her wrist as they left her driveway. "What's the dinner plan?"

"Meeting Paul and Raven at Sparky's Garage."

She frowned in confusion.

"It's a burger joint by the college," he clarified. "Kinda slow, but the food's great."

_Burgers,_ she repeated to herself, "What's on the menu?"

Pausing as a train rattled south along the interstate, Murphy happily described ribs, pulled pork sandwiches, juicy cheeseburgers. All messy eating.

"Murphy, I'll get stains on my dress. So will Raven." And his outfit, too.

He gave her an annoyed look. "Where you wanna go?"

The first thing that came to mind was "What about The Ark?"

"Yeah, alright. You got a thing for Ice Princess Barbie?"

She swatted him in the gut. Hard.

"Kidding," he grunted, and she glared. Then he added "But seriously...?"

"None of your business." Then, to distract him "Say so if there's a girl you want to notice us."

"Wait, you'd do that for me?"

She shrugged. "Sure. Dance with me. I'll make you look charming."

"I _am_ charming."

Lexa shrugged again. When the train passed he drove east.

Murphy called Raven while driving. They all rendezvoused outside The Ark. Raven wore an unflattering purple gown that Lexa guessed she'd inherited and had to adjust, matched to Paul in a purple dress shirt and faded black jeans. Murphy made a joke about two grapes, eliciting a snarl from Raven.

Other couples in formalwear occupied most of the diner's tables and booths. Losho remembered Lexa, seating the four of them at a back booth, near the buffet and in sight of the kitchen door. Every time the door swung out Lexa found herself peering in. She never saw Clarke, even though she felt that same weird certainty that the girl was close by. It made her skin tingle, warm and electric. Clarke wasn't in the kitchen. Probably right above them.

A waiter brought ice waters and she did a double take at Wells, in a collared red shirt and black slacks, seeming both poised and at ease in his uniform.

"Yep," Wells said as she gaped, "I'm learning the business, this is my part of the bargain. Jake will take your order soon."

As he left, Raven muttered about "crash kid," and "back in middle school".

Before Lexa could decide whether to ask, a clean-shaved man in red & black arrived at their table, saying "Hey, kids," and listed tonight's specials. His eyes were richly blue, possessing an air of friendly, paternal authority at odds with the formal outfit. His face looked vaguely familiar, though Lexa felt certain they'd never met.

The others ordered drinks plus the buffet. Raven was more respectful than Lexa would have imagined possible. Murphy addressed 'Jake' as "Mr. Griffon," and with widening eyes Lexa realized that this man had to be Clarke's father.

"Just the buffet, please," Lexa said, and gulped her water to calm the flock of butterflies in her stomach.

Jake / Mr. Griffon responded with a disarmingly kind, reassuring smile, as if he already knew exactly who Lexa was, then invited them all to grab plates and enjoy the buffet.

When they returned to the table, Lexa asked Murphy "Why did you call him Mr. Griffon?"

"He taught Science at the middle school for a while."

"And at MT Western," Paul said nonchalantly. "My parents like him. He's got a patent for some rocket engine part that Boeing wants to use. A turbopump or something. Don't ask me how that works."

"So _apparently_ he's kinda smart," Murphy said, dripping sarcasm.

Raven sighed, equally dramatic. "So sad that you're not, Murph."

"Whatever." Then he leaned toward Lexa and mock whispered "I wasn't the one with a crush on the guy."

Raven shugged, then glanced coyly at Paul. "Smart guys are hot."

Paul grinned back, "Smart girls are hotter."

~*~

The gym lot was full, so Murphy parked on the far side of the high school. They hustled a block to the gym, converging again with Paul & Raven and other couples. Along the way Lexa checked the other girls' dresses. No one else had duplicated hers, though one wore identical sandals. Oh, well. The guys all wore black suits, except for one in a blue tux and two others in button-down shirts and jeans.

Country music filled the gym's main hall, making quiet conversation impossible. Lexa stopped Murphy and scanned the crowd from the entryway. Raven & Paul promptly wandered off. Across the room, Atom stood by the refreshment tables, hands waving with gusto as he told what Lexa guessed was a football story to a muscular, olive-skinned guy in a black tux, shaggy hair curling at his temples. The slim, tall brunette at his side ran a hand up and down his back as they listened to Atom. Both wore the badges that announced them as chaperones. Beside them, Octavia appeared to be ranting to three of her friends, all dazzling as tropical birds. A few yards away, Ontari & Finn had created their own bubble of tension. Finn tapped his boot in time with the music, muscular arms crossed, looking anywhere but at Ontari, who blotted her eyes with a napkin. Lexa pointed them out to Murphy. He leaned close to say that they were only together tonight because Finn had struck out with Clarke, and Ontari had done _way_ more than beg.

Grinning, Lexa caught her breath at the sight of Costia, in a white empire-style gown, breasts shoved up to engulf her sun-cross. Her friend's hair was an intricate tangle of braids, all swept up to show off her neck, and even as Lexa looked away, her imagination ran wild at the idea of soft skin brushing her nose, her friend's scent in a breath. In heels, Costia stood taller Aden Griffin, chatting with her, but as date or merely friend, Lexa couldn't decide. Of course, Costia chose that moment to look over, to see her, and gave Lexa a smile like sunbeams blazing between rain clouds. Instantly, Lexa felt her own eyes crinkle and her cheeks tighten with a return smile, then her face heated and she had to look away.

Murphy's snort pulled her from her thoughts. "Heart eyes," he smirked, "both of you. It's frickin' disgusting."

Lexa narrowed her eyes, uncertain how to interpret his reaction. "Murph..."

He chuckled. "I'll send you home with Costia if you get me a date, with her-" He jerked his chin toward a wiry brunette, halfway across the room, looking mildly bored as she danced with a guy Lexa didn't recognize. The girl wore a gown in shades of bruises, muted blues and purples, accents of gold, tattoos on her arms and a cast around her left forearm. "Emori took a swing at Finn, broke her wrist on his chin, and _then _kicked him in the balls."

"You're strange," Lexa said, then, "I'll see what I can do. Let's go talk to Costia."

"Awesome." With a playful, arrogant smirk, Murphy offered his arm. Lexa accepted, curling her fingers across the inside of his elbow, and together they strolled over to Costia's group. Her sister Zoe stood nearby, happily gesticulating to a skinny boy whose face looked far too young to be anything but another freshman. He matched her with equal animation. And jokes, if Zoe's giggle fits were anything to go by.

Costia flashed another grin as they arrived, hugged her fiercely, then held Lexa at arms length to look her over. "Oh, wow, you look gorgeous."

"You too," Lexa said, blushing. "I love your hair."

Costia flashed her braces and stage-whispered "Took for _ever_."

They did introductions. Zoe's date was Daniel, a freshman and one of Zoe and Aden's friends. The six of them claimed space at a back table, then dispersed to the dance area.

Lexa's first few dances were nice. Murphy knew the basic steps for waltz, foxtrot, and swing, even if he didn't know the names and randomly mixed them. She caught on, learned to anticipate his mish-mash, to guide him, and began to really enjoy herself. Then, past Murphy's shoulder, she caught sight of a couple dancing swing, whirling across the floor on western boots.

Instantly she flashed back to the couple at the Bolton, then to the ash-blonde dancer woman looming from the trees. She startled and clutched Murphy's hand, nearly pulling him down with her before he caught his balance.

"You okay, babe?" he asked, watching her face.

"Stupid high heels. And don't call me 'babe'."

He chuckled. They resumed dancing.

Minutes later, she startled again at a glimpse of the demonic cowboy watching her from a corner. The curly-haired not-a-prostitute glared from across the crowded room. _Hallucinations_, she realized, _flashbacks._ Even though she _knew_ they were dead, had seen their heads ripped off, their flesh burning under faint, pewter-gray flames, she couldn't completely ignore the phantom sightings. They wouldn't leave her alone.

The fifth or sixth time she stumbled, Murphy led her to the side of the room and brought her a plastic cup of fruit punch. Lightly spiked with vodka, she decided. She drank it all, asked for another, and drained that, too. The alcohol made a relaxing fuzz over her anxieties.

A burst of crazed giggling nearly broke her. She'd swear it was real, and it was... from Costia. She and Aden stared at their feet, happily arguing about stepping on toes and the length of her gown. Their dancing was spastically inept, comical even, and when their eyes met Costia shot her a reassuring smile. Lexa found herself grinning right back.

Murphy pretended to vomit over her shoulder.

"Shut up," she snapped.

He threw his head back and laughed, frame shaking between her hands. Then, seeming happy and relaxed, his eyes sharpened. "Emori's watching. Can I kiss you? Fake like movies?"

Costia, too, watched them, her gaze apparently drawn to Murphy's laugh. Lexa gave him a nod.

Murphy spun her out to arms length, tugged with his hand as she'd shown him, and she spun back into his arms. They rotated another half-turn as he absorbed her momentum. He dipped her, caught her with a strong arm behind her shoulders, chest at her cheek. His breath blew over her face, minty, and his lips pressed to hers, but closed, chaste as they could be like this. Then he righted them, set her on her feet, and she allowed herself to rest her head on Murphy's chest. His arms felt warm, comforting, like Ernst's in Vienna, when he'd taken Hanna to the city's first Opernball. He smelled clean tonight, safe as any man could be, musk and cigars and sweet punch.

The music shifted to a country love song in ¾ time. Sighing, Lexa lifted herself away to lead him through a square pattern of steps. Murphy stumbled once and caught on, changed his frame, and they waltzed. Other students became colors and motion in shifting fabrics, changing styles. She wore billowing ball gowns. Layered skirts caressed her legs in courtyards and castles. In other flashes she wore simple country dresses or even breeches. The gym became a blur of ballrooms, crude taverns, a beach at sunset, the night-dark woods beside countless campfires. Murphy was Ernst, was Erik, was Marov, was Kurt, was others whose names she'd lost. The men her Others had loved.

The last, or first, was a wiry giant with silver-tinged hair. His hands had been rock solid, yet kind, always kind, gentle even for a woman he knew would never see him as more than a dear friend. His skin bore odors of damp metal, fresh soil, and ozone. Even more than his color-shifting, sky-colored eyes, she knew him by scent. No one else carried the scent of lightning.

The song trailed off. They slowed, stopped. Lost in the blend of faces, she stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms behind his neck, whispering "_En'jierlae ja'so._" He breathed across her ear with a low, hungry moan. His hands glided across her back, up along her spine, and she shivered, thinking _Costia, Clara, Raisa, _envisioning sunshine smiles gazing up at her, trusting, loving. Lips pressed to hers, but too firm. They tasted musky, bitter, masculine.

The teeth, too, felt odd to her lips. Too many. Too sharp. A thumb skated across her jaw, touched her throat. Those rough lips followed. Then all she saw were shadows, predatory shadows, strangling her. _ "Durnyja chalavieka_," he spat, _Stupid human_. She swept her hands up and out to break the hold, drew back one arm and lashed out with a fist. Her sandals twisted and she slipped.

Lexa sat down hard, wrists slamming the floor, shirt hiked and her knees in the air. The ballroom was only a school gymnasium. Murphy lay flat on his back, eyes rolled up, breathing slowly. Limp on the hardwood floor. Completely human.

Everyone around her stood frozen, staring. Truly, openly gawking at her. She had to escape. Lexa's feet thrashed against the smooth floor before finding purchase to crawl/stagger/_run_ from the gym to the lobby, out into the cold night air.

Students clustered together outside, talking or smoking. They all watched as she tore off her sandals and fled across the street. She continued to the athletic fields, slowing only when her feet reached slushy grass. Her heartbeat pounded in her skull. She couldn't get enough air. Anywhere she ran death would follow. The demons were real. They'd murder her. The three she'd met must have been scouts. When others realized they were missing, they'd send out search groups. For her. For Clarke and for Shadow Eyes.

_No,_ she told herself, _the three I met didn't have time to tell others before Shadow Eyes killed them. They don't know about us. They can't know about Clarke. Not yet. _

"Lexa?!" Costia called, and a moment later "Lexa!"

She focused on breathing through the unfocused terror that burned in her blood. When that didn't help, she clenched her fists until her nails gouged her palms. _My flesh, _she told herself, _this is my life, no one __else's. _But this pain was too small. She needed more. She needed her knife.

"What happened back there?!"

She whirled, "I _snapped_, that's what happened!"

"Kay, but why?"

"Because I have _nightmares_, Costia, horrible nightmares like you wouldn't _believe_! Last night they stabbed and strangled me to death and tonight I got sucked back into it and had a flashback."

Costia inhaled sharply.

"Yeah, _surprise_. I'm even more broken than you guessed."

"This is about Thursday night."

She turned her back. "Just go away, Costia. Clarke's right. You're better off avoiding me."

"No. I'm not."

Lexa felt a touch between her spine and left shoulder blade, shockingly warm amid the cold-wet of melting snowflakes on her skin. When it dropped to her scar, where the dream-dagger's tip had pricked out, that warmth surrounded her like summer sunlight. Tears sprang to her eyes and she shuddered. Hopefully her friend would take it as shivering. She should be cold, after all, standing in the snow in a backless, sleeveless dress.

The touch withdrew. Trickling icewater took its place. Goosebumps swept across her skin, but she wasn't cold the way Costia's touch had made her warm.

"Lexa, look at me."

She ignored Costia and crossed her arms over her chest, hands gripping her biceps, watching tiny flakes settle on the grass. Between the snow and the overcast sky's reflected glow, the fields were brighter now than under moonlight. _Pretty_, she decided, _and simple_. Nothing about her life had ever been simple.

Costia's stockinged feet stepped into view. Her gown trailed in the slush.

"Leave me alone," Lexa growled.

"No," Costia said, shivering. "I know too much psychology for that to work. And you're not the only one with really bad nightmares."

Her head jerked up. "You?"

"Sometimes. But I was thinking of other people. Wells was in a car crash when he was nine. His mom and sister died and he was in the hospital for weeks. Clarke is terrified of being raped, or worse." Costia hesitated, hugging herself. "And Lexa, the _whole world_ is super messed up. I'm sure you know that better than me. The only way to fix it is for us to all work together and help each other."

"That is _not_ going to happen in the real world."

The blonde shook her head, "That doesn't matter. What matters is, we _try_. I know you understand, 'cause that's what you've been doing ever since you got here."

Lexa scowled, struggling to think of a retort.

"I really appreciate that, you know? If you're there, I know I'm safe."

"Safe is an illusion."

"Maybe." Costia stepped closer, ducking to catch Lexa's eyes. "But that's not how it feels. If Pike called me 'dyke' again-" Lexa's fingers curled to iron fists, thinking _I'd kill him_, and Costia's gaze dropped to them in confirmation, "-I know you'd make him stop. I can feel it."

Lexa swallowed thickly, then nodded. No sense denying the truth. "If he hurt you I'd hurt him," _and then some._

"You're a sweetheart." Costia kissed her cheek and then halfway tackled her in a hug. Lexa caught her, automatically returning the embrace, and Costia's arms slid across her back. Again, one hand came to rest over the strange scar. Warmth flashed through her, more real than the snow underfoot, and heat flared within her heart. Eyes pricking, Lexa felt herself melt into Costia's embrace. The air over her friend's neck smelled of spiced lotion and clean skin, of sunshine and summer. Lexa filled her lungs. In the same moment Costia's chest expanded against hers, then a breath tickled across her shoulder.

"Kay," Costia whispered, "my toes are frozen, so can we go back?"

Lexa eased away, faintly surprised at the reluctance of her own arms, sliding down Costia's shoulders. Those cinnamon eyes gazed into hers. Trusting. Caring.

"Are you gonna be okay, Lexa?"

She tried to nod, instead sighed, "I don't know."

"You wanna go home?"

There, Lexa did nod. That might be best for everyone.

"Kay. We'll check on Murphy and get stuff, then leave."

"Damn... Murphy." _How bad did I hurt him? _"Let's go."

Costia circled her to pick up their shoes. As soon as they reached gravel she paused to slip hers on, holding Lexa's arm to stay upright. "One of these days I'm gonna break an ankle 'cause of heels."

"That's why I don't like them." Although by running barefoot she'd shredded the soles of her hose. "Cos, I really did mean what I said. I'm not a safe person to be friends with."

"You let me decide that."

"No, Costia, you don't get it. I'm..." _dangerous, cursed, doomed._ "You don't know anything about me. I'm- I'm cursed."

"You're wrong," Costia said, quietly and with such absolute conviction that Lexa paused. Her gaze held steady despite goosebumps on her arms, "We met for a reason. You're here for a reason. I don't know why yet, but I bet you can guess."

_What did Clarke tell her? _ "It's nothing you should be a part of."

"So you do know."

"Let it go, Cos." _You'll get hurt. Or worse._

But Costia stuck to her side as they walked, trust in her eyes.

Lexa took in the gym scene before crossing the street. _No ambulance is a good sign, right?_ Her date wasn't among the clusters outside. Through the windowed front wall she spotted Paul in the lobby, then Raven. Between them, Murphy sat against the inner bricks. Emori crouched at his side, holding a wad of paper towels to his jaw. Wet or iced, Lexa assumed, but the moment he noticed Lexa, his focus narrowed to her. At a word Emori and Paul helped him up.

Lexa followed Costia inside. The door wheezed shut behind them. Emori and Raven both glared daggers. "Cos," Lexa said, "would you get my stuff?"

"You betcha." Costia hurried off.

Lexa stopped in front of Murphy. He appeared more confused than angry, but definitely both. The left side of his jaw had begun to swell. Tomorrow he'd have a bruise in the shape of her knuckles.

She focused on his chest, tangling her fingers in her sandal straps. "I'm sorry I hurt you," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to."

Slowly, Murphy nodded.

"Better not do it again, bitch."

Lexa returned Raven's steady gaze. "I won't."

"Well, good. Or you better believe it'll hurt."

"Raven..." Murphy said tiredly.

"I'm just saying... All for one and all that jazz."

"Yeah, Raven, I know."

Costia and Aden returned with coats and Lexa's purse. "The chaperones are looking for you," Costia whispered. "We should leave now."

Lexa looked to Aden, uncertain. Wasn't he Costia's date?

Aden looked to Costia, "I'll be fine. Paige is here." Then to Lexa, "I'll cover for you."

"Thank you." Lexa shrugged on her jacket while Costia did the same. "Murphy," she said, "I'm-"

"Fuck off," he said, but winked. He actually winked at her. Lexa looked away, fought to stifle a laugh, and hurried out behind Costia.

Costia had parked just down the street from the gym. As they pulled the doors shut, Lexa said "I'm sorry I ruined-"

"Stop it." Costia turned the key, let the engine idle, and faced her. "You haven't ruined anything. You're on Ten Mile Road, right? Other side of the interstate?"

"Yes." _Did Clarke tell you? How much?_

Still, they sat there in silence until the vents blew warm air. Then Costia set off. She drove slowly through town, over the railroad and past the Hotel Bolton. In the shadows under the overpass, she observed "Your life was really bad before you got here, wasn't it?"

Her tone made it a statement. Lexa squirmed and looked away. The river was a sheet of black between blobs of gray vegetation. "In ways I hope you never understand."

Costia glanced at her. "I do, though. Not all of it, obviously. But a lot. The bullying part, 'cause lots of reasons. The bad parents part, 'cause most of the time Wells' dad acts like he doesn't exist. And I know about nightmares, too." Out Lexa's window, the river tagged the roadside and veered out around the little park. Costia continued, "None of that changes how I feel. You don't have to hide from me."

"I know," Lexa said as they rumbled over the little bridge. "I think I knew as soon as I met you." At the sight of her back porch light, she added "Keep going, Cos."

Somewhere to the west, Ten Mile Road connected to another main road -- in another nine miles, presumably -- then linked to I-15. Costia passed her house. The road curved to the right and into the hills. The last house lights faded behind them. "You want to go to the overlook?"

"Sure."

A minute later Costia veered left, onto snow-covered gravel and between two fence posts that had rotted to holes & splinters. Lexa had jogged this way several times to learn the geography. The road dead ended a mile out, on a flat, empty field that overlooked the Big Hole Valley. "Do you know what this place is?" asked Lexa.

"It started as a housing development, then it was supposed to be a landfill, but they moved that a few more miles out." Costia parked the SUV at the field's edge, tall weed stalks waving in the headlights. "It's quiet, hmm?"

"Mm-hmm." Lexa toed off her sandals, toes spreading under the warm vented air. Snowflakes dusted the windshield and began to melt.

Costia shut off the lights. Metal clattered as she unbuckled. Lexa did the same. They shifted to face each other in the console's faint glow.

"Lexa? Tell me something happy."

"Baby raccoons."

"I know, right? They're adorable. But not what I meant. Tell me a happy memory or a dream or a hope."

"Why?"

"Why not? I'm curious."

Lexa thought about that, seconds becoming minutes, and as much as she might have expected otherwise, Costia seemed content to let her think, to watch her think. So Lexa gazed past her, then out the windshield, out at the frosty night. The lowest clouds glowed slightly in the distance, above Terminus. A few windows or porch lights shone like fallen embers on the plain. All else was pitch black. Her life felt a little like that now, points of light surrounded by dark, a glow of hope above to keep her going. Some of the brightest points had found her since her father's death. Like Lincoln, maybe, or Costia herself on that first day, or just yesterday morning, holding her as she fell apart. Or Clarke, screaming defiance at the Grim Reaper's daughter, ultraviolet energy swelling between her hands, purple lightning to drive off death incarnate. _Whatever you did, Clarke, thank you._

None of that, she guessed, was quite what Costia wanted. Lexa'd never dared hope much for herself. She wouldn't have a future, said her dreams. She'd be dead by twenty. That left the past. Before here, the last bright point of her life had been... "Luna."

"The moon?"

Lexa shook her head. "My first girlfriend. Sort of. We had to move before we... Before much of anything."

"How did you meet her?"

"In school. Seventh grade. There were some girls who didn't like me. Or her. But Luna was... She helped me. She was quiet most of the time, really intense. We were outside Chicago at the time, and there was a gang of girls..." They'd cornered Lexa after school, half a dozen girls ready to smear her face across the sidewalk if she wouldn't – literally – kiss their shoes. Lexa'd spat in their faces with the sure knowledge of Anya's fighting skills, the certainty that she'd break them, but they'd all been too naive to read her eyes. She would have had to, except... "Luna brought two metal pipes to a fist fight. She kept me from having to hurt anyone." The girls had backed off, had stayed wary of the two of them. "For a while it was the two of us against the world." 

"Only for a while?"

Lexa shut her eyes, remembering fierce kisses, Luna's bright eyes, her hot weight on her chest, a squirm in her gut and heat in her belly. They'd kissed for hours on a mildewed sofa-bed in an abandoned house. Later, though, it hadn't felt right. Lexa'd distanced herself to think, to try to understand herself. Luna had done the same. They'd come to matching conclusions. _ I know I'm not who you've dreamt of, _Luna had told her._ That doesn't change the fact that we're stronger together._ Lexa'd clasped her hand, had hugged her with all the aching of her heart. _We are. Always._ United, with violence in their eyes, no one in the school had done worse than taunt them. Still, Luna had never once invited her to her home.

"I never met her family, but I think they were worse than mine." Luna had shown up bruised, most days, sometimes moving stiffly with shattered-glass glares for anyone who crossed her. Anyone but Lexa, who'd seen more in Luna's eyes and moods than any teacher seemed willing to admit. _ Please, Lex, I can't stay there anymore._

"Luna wanted me to run away with her." But even as nothing worse than a monster in nightmares, Audra had stopped her. To run away then, thirteen years old with no resources and no plan, would doom them both, if only in common ways. "And I couldn't." 

Luna'd been absent the next Monday, the next entire week, and others had claimed her desk. Then Titus had lost his latest construction job -- a fight with his boss, Lexa understood, probably about drinking or arguments or both -- and the rent had been too much for Sydney to cover alone. So one Friday night they'd piled everything in the truck and driven east. "I haven't seen her since."

"Oh, Light," Costia exhaled, "and that's your happy place."

"No," Lexa shook her head, "no, that's just- I guess it's the best I've got before here." _ At least in this life._

"Wow. Lexa- Wow, and you don't know where- No, I guess you wouldn't. Lexa, we gotta make some happy memories for you."

"You already have."

In the console's glow Costia nodded to herself, then shook her head. "Kay, well..."

Lexa drew a breath through her nose. "What?"

"I know something bad happened to you Thursday night. I'm pretty sure Clarke was involved and I can guess what that might mean. But I'm not gonna ask. I just want you know that you can tell me when you're ready. I know how to keep secrets. I'll help if you let me."

"Okay..." Her pulse beat in her throat, in her lungs. Her breath shook. "Okay."

"So there's something else I'd like to ask."

Lexa tried to psyche herself. "Go ahead."

"Why didn't you go home with Murphy?"

_Wait, Murphy? _ Alright, then. "We made a deal. He got what he wanted."

"What was that?" Costia leaned against her head rest.

"Emori's attention."

"Not yours? You two looked good dancing. Way better than Aden and me."

"We went as friends. That's all. And you looked like you were having fun."

"I've known him most of my life." Then after a beat, "Deals have two sides. What'd you want?"

Lexa exhaled, debating the truth, dropped cues and Murphy's comments. She shed her jacket, glad to be free of its sticky dampness, let herself slump until the door's cold plastic and glass touched her spine, then straightened. Mirroring Costia, leaning left against the seat, Lexa sighed, "This."

"What 'this'? The overlook? The dark?"

She drew in a breath. "You."

"Me?"

"You, Costia. Meeting you is the best thing that's happened to me in years."

"Lexa?" said Costia, sounding uncertain, even scared, "I'd really like to kiss you."

"Me too."

Costia giggled. A moment later Lexa understood.

"Shush, you." Lexa lifted the center arm rest that separated them, scooting closer, shins knocking the center deck and her legs folding to cross it. Her knees bumped Costia's. Lexa leaned into her friend's headrest and their foreheads touched, warm, comforting. Spice and berry scents filled her lungs. "You smell amazing."

"Super," muttered Costia, and pecked her cheek, "So that worked."

Lexa chucked, "So there was a plan."

"I'm a planner." Lexa heard a pop. The seat dropped, and both of them with it, landing with a thump and a rattle of rollers as Costia scooted all the way backward. Lexa _eep'_d and Costia giggled, hugging her, soothing arms gliding around her waist. Hot air from the vents dried her back and feet.

"What about that kiss?" murmured Costia.

Lexa nuzzled in with eyes shut, sensation alone guiding her to Costia's lips and the sweetness of strawberries. She licking over them. A hot tongue flicked out and across her own teeth, tasting. Costia moaned and Lexa sighed into her mouth, breathless and floating. Soft hands clenched at her shoulders, glided over her skin. Costia's fingertips found the new scar, pressed the slight pucker, and warmth surged through every nerve. Lexa rolled to pull Costia on top of her. To cradle her close. To keep her safe. Their legs tangled together and their mouths pressed closer, barely parting for air.

"Mmm," Costia sighed, one hand squeezing her upper arm, "I like your muscles."

Lexa kissed along her jaw, down the smoothness of her throat, to the curve of her shoulder, eliciting a delicious shiver. Costia felt fragile, delicate in her arms. "I like you as you are, Cl-" _Clara._ Her eyes shot wide in realization, then squeezed shut. "-Costia." _Is it you again? Have we been here before?_

The girl in her arms hugged her tightly, rained butterfly kisses along her jaw and back to her mouth, and, gazing down at her in the dark, eyes glinting, whispered into Lexa's lips. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too, Cos. I've- mmh," _missed you._

~*~

Later, dozing together, Lexa's mind returned to dancing with Murphy, to her vision.

_"Durnyja chalavieka_," the Cowboy had said, 'Stupid human,' in some Slavic dialect. Not Russian, but similar. He hadn't known who she was. Neither, it had seemed, had the other two. Not until she fought back against the dark-featured, dead-eyed woman. They hadn't known.

For once, she'd learned about them before they discovered her. She wasn't crazy. Clarke had come to her rescue. With Costia and Aden's influence, maybe they could join forces. If she was very lucky, Shadow Eyes might even help her a second time.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't doomed.

  
  



	15. Meeting Point

By Monday, Murphy sported a livid purple bruise on the left side of his jaw. He grinned about it, too, strutting just a little on the way into Algebra. Lexa watched him lift his chin to a friend, and in response to some comment, Murphy shot back "Duh, the crazy ones are the most fun."

Lexa cringed, dawdling just outside the classroom, then shivered as Costia stroked down the back of her tricep. 

"I'll cut class with you, if you want? Kay?" And there, between the lines when Lexa glanced at her friend (_Girlfriend?_), Costia's cinnamon eyes promised she'd follow where Lexa led. She trusted Lexa not to ask what she shouldn't give.

Lexa caught her hand, twined their fingers and squeezed. "No, Cos. No, it's okay. It'll be okay." She swayed a few degrees closer, breath catching, gaze dropping to Costia's full lips, remembering this morning's taste of raspberries and mocha coffee. They'd commandeered the last stall in the restroom nearest Mrs. Bryant's class for a solid ten minutes before first bell. "Just for now," Costia'd said when, between kisses, Lexa asked "Do we hide this?"

At the sinks, under her breath, Costia had added, "I'll have to share you. I don't wanna share you." 

Lexa wasn't sure she understood. It had something to do with how Costia saw her, she thought. Maybe something to do with Clarke. Maybe not.

Lexa tugged and Costia followed her into Algebra. Murphy's eyes promptly dropped to their hands. A wide smirk quirked his lips and Costia pulled away, heading for her seat. Instead of resisting, Lexa let Costia go, making the drag of their parting fingers into a caress. It earned her pink cheeks and a _look_, half-warning, half-wanting, as Costia settled in to her desk.

Of course the first drawing Murphy passed her was a doodle of her and Costia looking at each other across a classroom. Their eyes were hearts. He'd drawn himself vomiting in an arc onto Mr. Ben's desk.

That was the best of it. The worst was Ontari and Octavia, mock-whispering crass jokes about lumber-Janes, all but outright denying Lexa's femininity, declaring her a psychopath. Murphy ignored them, though he drew an unfairly comical cartoon of Ontari making a ritual sacrifice of puppies, then puking with fingers in her throat while a dialogue balloon announced to another sketch of a girl (presumably Octavia) "If I eat too many I'll get fat."

Lexa passed him a note as soon as Mr. Ben turned his back. "That was BAD. Shouldn't be so funny."

Murphy laughed into his hand so hard it gave him hiccups. Mr. Ben glared at both of them. With a shared glance, they tried to tone it down until the end bell. Then he gave Costia such a knowing wink and a grin that she blushed and smiled all the way back upstairs, shooting glances at Lexa, eyes sparking whenever their eyes met. By the time they reached History Lexa felt as if she were floating.

The strange, subliminal thrum of Clarke's presence brought her crashing back to ground. She couldn't focus on Mrs. Bryant's lesson. "Yes, 'kay? Yes," Lexa thought she heard Costia say, then "…was my…" and "…didn't make me do anything."

Gulping, Lexa tried to keep her attention on the whiteboard and not overhear anything that might get her literally incinerated. _At the end of their civil war, the Central American Federation made these nine principles the core of their constitution: list them._ Lexa jotted 'No slaves,' 'Free speech,' and 'All Citizens Vote (mothers too),' then drew a blank. She practically _felt_ Clarke's eyes searing her backside. Costia felt protective. Lexa recognized the sound of a frown in huffs and stern scribbling from the corner.

_You're imagining it,_ Lexa told herself. Yet whenever a classmate spoke from behind her, her own gaze shot to the back corner, where Clarke and Costia traded scraps of notebook paper. Clarke's mood seemed to moderate as class dragged on. Worryingly, Costia's darkened, raising a spike of anxiety in Lexa's chest. Lexa fidgeted, guessing she was the topic. By the time the bell rang she couldn't have said what they'd discussed in the last third of class. Costia wasn't happy. Something Clarke had said made her anxious. _Did Costia tell her that we're dating? Does she think I'll hurt her?_ Because _I will **never**… But if Clarke knows I knocked out Murphy…_

Between History and Comp Apps, Clarke and Costia met with Wells in the hall. Listening from her workstation, Lexa caught her own name in their furious whispering, though she couldn't make out the context. Some of it sounded like Swedish or Norwegian. Clarke had made a decision about her, Lexa guessed, and they were worried Lexa would flip out when she heard it. 

_They think I'll hurt Costia. I'm too angry. _Nausea bloomed in her stomach. She shut her eyes, began to rock, telling herself not to jump to conclusions. She could still be wrong. But if she was right, Wells would be the one to tell her. _Nothing personal,_ he'd say, _but Clarke thinks you're too unstable._ He'd apologize for being the messenger of bad news and ask her to avoid Clarke. The two of them would like her to gently distance herself from Costia. She could see it all in vivid detail.

She looked up at chairs scraping and a scent of lavender. Clarke had assumed her place in the corner. Wells sat beside Lexa. She noted fresh bruises on his face and scrapes on his hands. From his rigid posture and slow, deliberate breathing, she wondered if his ribs were damaged. Surprised, she asked "What happened to you?"

"Got jumped. Don't ask," he said with a forced smile, and then Mrs. Carlin began her 'today's project' lecture. Wells folded his assignment sheet to make a triangle, tore off a strip to square it, and resumed folding. He never once looked away from his hands, as if deliberately ignoring her. By lecture's end, he'd created an origami flapping crane, and Lexa felt physically ill. Adding to it, she felt Clarke's attention on them both, waiting. 

Resigned, she asked "What is it, Wells?"

"Well, um... don't shoot the messenger, eh? Because there's really no good way to say this."

_I knew it._ Her heart dropped to her feet. _I'm on my own._ Hollowly, she said "Don't worry about it, Wells. In a few months I'll be gone." _One way or another._

Behind them, Clarke sucked in air. 

"Huh?" Wells said, brown eyes finally meeting hers. "Hold up, I don't know... Oh, frell. Lexa-" 

Static crackled from the intercom, "Alexandra Woods, please report to the Guidance Counselor's office." 

Lexa grabbed her bag and stood up, pausing only long enough to make eye contact with Mrs. Carlin before fleeing the room. The halls blurred and she thought _Titus was right. I _am_ cursed._ This was how people always reacted to her, in the end. Once they started to see who she really was, what she was capable of, they steered clear. They said "Thanks, but..." and the next day announced "She's not _my_ friend, she's _crazy_." It was safer this way. For her and for them. This way, when Audra and her demons inevitably found her, she wouldn't have to worry about bystanders becoming casualties. 

_I could run away._ Mom would cry and whine and be all dramatic, then she'd move on. Lincoln could stop pretending he cared. And she'd get to live a little longer. Years longer, if she kept moving and didn't get attached to anyone. That was the key. _Love is weakness._

She blotted her eyes with her sleeves in the stairwell, trusting navy cotton not to show makeup stains, and hurried on to the stupid counselor's office. 

The school shrink was a middle aged woman, as WASP-ish as the rest of Terminus. She introduced herself as Mrs. Mary Sherman and said she had three daughters, two now attending Montana Western, Terminus' local college, so she knew a little about girls acting out and how to help. As if raising normal kids in a normal family qualified her to understand Lexa. Mrs. Sherman had already leapt to the conclusion that "fighting with your boyfriend" was Lexa's way of "venting grief and stress over all the changes in your life." 

Clueless bullshit, but Lexa didn't correct her, instead gave vague, half-true answers to each leading question. In return she got mini-lectures on topics like 'Stages of Grief' and 'How to Constructively Manage Stress', exactly the psychobabble garbage she'd learned to expect. Mrs. Sherman had never killed anyone and had to cope with the nightmares and self-loathing. She'd never been murdered, had never felt the absolute helplessness of a child slave. She'd never watched her loved ones suffer and die, knowing she was the cause. Trying yoga or journaling wouldn't have made a bit of difference with the three drifters, and art therapy sure as shit wouldn't convince Audra to let her live. Sherman couldn't understand, so Lexa nodded in all the right places and left with a fake smile and a late note.

Mrs. Indra had the gym class split into three crude lines, doing sprints back and forth on the hardwood floor. Lexa shoved the note at Indra and looked for Costia and Clarke, spotting Clarke standing rigidly at the middle of the far group. Costia huddled at her back, head down, hands jammed into her armpits. Behind Costia, Ontari's lips whispered in sweet menace. To either side several clones giggled like hyenas. 

_Fuck that,_ Lexa decided, blood boiling as she jogged over. No matter what Clarke thought, she'd rather bury Ontari in a shallow grave than see Costia looking so stricken. If everyone was going to fear her anyway, why hold back? Worst case she'd have to move on. Been there, done that. Seeing her expression, one of the clones blanched and promptly sidestepped to another line. Ontari wasn't so smart, whispering something that made Costia hang her head and cover her ears, moisture glinting on her lashes.

Lexa pushed between clones, wedging a hand between Costia and Ontari to peel the taller girl away. With that bit of space, she inserted herself behind her girlfriend, then stretched her arms to shove the remaining clones outward. A full step backward bounced Ontari into the girl behind her. Both squawked about cutting in line, but Indra didn't care so nothing came of it. 

For the moment, she ignored Ontari's glower on her back. Ahead, Clarke watched her while hugging Costia.

"You two gonna be okay?" She held eye contact with Costia.

Costia smiled weakly, licking her lips and glancing to Lexa's. Clarke gave a slight nod. 

"Psycho white trash bitch," Ontari hissed. "I know what _really_ happened. I know all about _you_."

Lexa stiffened, fingers clenching until her knuckles ached. What could Ontari have learned? Was this about the three drifters and Shadow Eyes? Or Clarke? Had someone seen them, that night? Maybe Ontari had heard stories from Polis. Or from someone before there? Lexa had moved so often, and tended to make enemies of her most vindictive classmates. It wasn't impossible that Ontari had found one and learned a secret, like nightmares or how quickly she healed.

"I bet you'll end up just like your drunk-ass dad, as _roadkill_."

_That's all she knows?_ Lexa let out a jagged laugh and whirled on Ontari, meeting her pretty eyes with black amusement. "Really? That's the best you've got? You think I _care_ that you know about him? Wrong. I cannot care less, he's ashes, and you _still_ don't matter. But consider this: If I'm 'psycho' enough to accidentally knock out my own date, what do you think I'd do if someone _really_ pissed me off?"

She held Ontari's gaze, letting the part of her that remembered being repeatedly murdered show in her eyes. After a dozen heartbeats to be certain Ontari saw, if not understood, Lexa faced her friends again, to the sound of Ontari's high, brittle giggle. A moment later the queen bee sidestepped to another line. Costia's face brightened and Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Sinclair!" Indra barked. Costia startled, then sprinted away, depressingly slowly. 

Addressing Clarke's navy tee and golden braid, Lexa whispered "I don't know why you did what you did, and maybe I just proved you were right about me, but I swear I'll be good to Costia. I am on your side. And... and even if you never do change your mind, I will not let you or anyone else be a target or a scapegoat. Got it?"

Clarke glanced back at her, stunningly blue eyes blinking once, and nodded. 

~*~

At lunch, hanging out in Murphy's homeroom with Raven, Paul, and Emori, Raven made it clear that Lexa was on probation, then asked if she'd heard the latest rumors about herself. 

"What, you mean how the Oh No's are saying my dad was a drunk, and died because he was driving with more booze than blood?"

"Bitter, much?" Paul quipped, and she glared at him.

"That's it," Raven agreed. "And he went out because you two had a big fight?"

That night -- including the vertigo of her dream/vision -- remained disturbingly clear in her memory, no matter how often she wished otherwise. "They must've found the police report." Good thing she'd refused to allow photos of her own injuries.

"Hate to ask," Murphy started, "but did he hit a minivan? 'Cause Atom heard he killed a whole family."

She growled to herself. _Stupid vindictive cheerleaders._ "No, he didn't hit anyone. Is that all?"

Paul asked "Why'd they call you to Sherman's office?"

"Anti-social behavior," Lexa said, glancing to Murphy's bruise.

"Been there!" Raven said. "Did she tell you about her daughters? Like 'I raised three girls who only got high at parties, so listen like I'm not full of shit."

Lexa raised an eyebrow. "Pretty much."

It turned out that they'd all had multiple encounters with the shrink. Emori had weekly appointments even before she'd tried to break her hand on Finn's face. Paul kind of liked her. Murphy was neutral. Raven despised the woman, asserting that Sherman was about as insightful as dirt. Lexa agreed. They bonded in contempt for school counselors.

~*~

"Hey Lex," Murphy said after English, "let's go blow off some steam."

She traded books in her locker, asking "What about Emori?"

"Her too. She wants to get to know you better."

"I, um…" _I have plans,_ wasn't quite true when she and Costia hadn't actually agreed on any. _But…_ "Don't you have to be at the Tap at four?"

"Aw, whatever. The boss is a jackass. He can wait." 

"Um... Lexa?" That was Costia's voice, along with a presence she didn't need to see to identify. Perfect timing. Had she changed her mind? 

She sidestepped around Murphy and found herself looking at Clarke, gazing back from beneath her oversize green hood, pale blue eyes blazing into Lexa's. 

Costia stepped in, clasping Lexa's hands, gaze dropping to her lips.

"Hey, Princess," Murphy drawled at Clarke, "what can _I_ do for _you_?"

Lexa snapped "Shut up, Murphy." Then, gently, "Cos, you ready to go?"

"No, um, I've got Band, but, um... all that stuff this morning..."

"Lexa," Clarke took over, "we should talk. Would you be willing to come to my house?"

She ought to make her wait. Her traitorous subconscious answered "Sure."

Murphy burst into disbelieving laughter. Clarke flinched, then stepped back at his "What the fuck? Since when are you and Snow White on first names?"

Lexa grabbed two fistfuls of his hoody and spun them so that his back slapped the lockers. "_Murph_," she growled, "this is important. Go be on time at the Tap for once. Or play hooky with Emori. I don't care. See you tomorrow." She backed off to watch his eyes.

"Fine," he huffed, and stalked away.

"Bad timing?" Costia asked.

"He'll get over it." Lexa shut her locker, only to be enveloped by one of Costia's sunshine hugs. Most of her tension evaporated, then soft lips whispered over the side of her neck and she sucked a breath through Costia's hair. Berry scents filled her. Costia stepped back, a shy smile on her lips, and Lexa grinned in return. Clarke got a hug, too.

"Kay, bye," Costia added, and left.

"Guess it's your show now," said Lexa.

Clarke gave her a wary look, quietly declaring "I'm going to consider that a promise, you know. What you said in P.E. If you hurt her, no one will find your body."

Lexa blinked at her, imagining pitch black shadows and violet lightning, wooden cracks that she'd know were her own bones bursting open. _GET AWAY FROM HER!_ Her throat was suddenly too dry to swallow.

"Had to get that out of the way. A vague disclaimer is no one's friend." Waving to follow, Clarke led the way to her locker. 

Wells waited there in his scuffed biker jacket. "What's the plan, Griff?"

Clarke focused on transferring textbooks. At the back of her locker Lexa glimpsed two photos. In the first, Wells hugged Clarke and Costia from behind. The other showed her and Aden to either side of a pre-teen girl, intense green eyes and dark hair. Adopted, maybe? Or just the sort of complexion genetics that skipped generations? 

Clarke removed a long, gray coat and closed the locker. Without quite making eye contact, she told Wells, "Probably best if we don't have an audience today, _Skaldivinr_." 

"Fine," he grumbled as Lexa puzzled over the endearment. "Still gonna escort you out of the holding cell."

Clarke smiled faintly and slipped on mirrored, blue-rimmed sunglasses. 

The three of them went downstairs, exiting the stairwell into bright sunlight, cold air, and a cluster of students. Wells apologetically forced a path. Clarke ignored both friendly greetings and unkind glares, dodging casually outstretched hands.

Once they'd escaped the school grounds, Wells gave Clarke another hug. They agreed to talk later. He crossed Helena to the gym lot and his motorcycle. Clarke watched him for a moment, eyes hidden, expression unreadable. A moment later she started toward her home. 

They were silent for the first block. Lexa couldn't decide where to begin. Ahead and behind them other students walked home along Helena Street. Anything they said could be overheard. 

Quietly, Clarke asked "Will you keep the red in your hair?"

_Good a place as any._ "No. Yesterday I got some dye to put on top of the colors. You know, make the streak fade slowly. It doesn't seem wise to suddenly go monochrome."

"That's too bad. I think the look suits you." 

"Thank you." They crossed another street. "What does… _Skaldivinr_ mean?" Saying it felt a bit like singing.

"Skalds were warrior bards, _vinr_ is a close friend. Wells is a poet at heart. A _bad_ poet, but definitely a poet. He's been through battles for me." 

"Oh-kay... Because of people like Finn or the Double Oh No's?" 

"Yeah," Clarke said. "Finn thinks one date means he deserves ten more. Octavia needs to have control, so I let her keep that illusion as long as she doesn't go too far. Ontari..." she shrugged, "Ontari has lousy parents. She's always taken that out on everyone else."

"Like today, with Costia."

Clarke made half a pirouette on the sidewalk, suddenly facing her through those oversize sunglasses. "Anything I said would have made it worse."

"Or she'd back down once and for all."

"No, she wouldn't have. She'd come at me sideways, just like she's doing with you, with that rumor."

Scowling, Lexa glanced away. "She doesn't know a thing about me."

"But Ontari knows far too much about me and the people I love. She knows what lines not to cross. So do I."

_But how do you put up with it?_ Lexa bit her tongue, shook her head. Arguing wouldn't bring answers. "I'm marking some new lines that she better not cross."

"And I'm grateful. We all are." Clarke swiveled, urging "Come on," and they resumed their stride, together.

"You mean that?"

"Mmm-hmm. Ontari doesn't get you. You aren't afraid and she can't figure out why. It's fun to watch."

Lexa frowned. "But I don't scare you?"

"Nope, I see the marshmallow underneath."

"I am _not_ a marshmallow."

"Okay," said Clarke, and turned a corner into an alley. The service exit for her family restaurant lay just ahead, nestled under the upper deck and between a metal dumpster and a wooden stairway up.

"I'm _not_." Lexa hurried to catch up. "I’m dangerous."

"I believe you."

Clarke paused in the shadows beneath the fenced deck. The alley was relatively clean; restaurant scents overwhelmed those of the frosty garbage. Lexa inhaled, felt her stomach rumble, and hoped the sound would go unnoticed. 

Clarke pocketed her sunglasses and lowered her hood, burnt gold hair framing her pale face. "Hungry?"

Lexa gave her a sharp look, met pale blue eyes that didn't look away, and wondered if this was a test. "Clarke..." she said, part question, part warning, straining to calculate how much she could spend on dinner and not risk skipping lunches. Best not to depend on Mom's paycheck or her brother's good will. "I can't afford a lot."

"This one's on me. Call it a 'thank you'. Because it is."

For an instant she felt the world shifting around them, dizziness and déjà vu rushing up like forgotten dreams. "So, I... I did the right thing? Looking out for you guys?"

Clarke studied the pavement, slipping a key from her jeans pocket. "Every time." She unlocked the door and waved her inside. "Welcome to my home, Lexa." 


	16. These Truths We Share

Warm air gusted Lexa's face, tickling her nose with aromas of spices both familiar and exotic. The scents were stronger to her left. A little to the right the restaurant's back hall angled forward. Clarke set her backpack on a long bench to the left and hung her coat on a line of pegs above it. "You can leave your things here," she said. "No one'll touch them."

Lexa hesitated, peering past an Employees Only door and restrooms to the dining area, then looking to the kitchen. What if someone _did_ search her backpack? Clarke knew about her knife. She must have washed the demon blood from it if the stuff hadn't burned away like the bodies. That didn't mean Clarke knew she took it everywhere, or that no one would flip if they found it. "You swear?"

Clarke met her eyes, "I give you my word, Lexa. You're safe here."

_Yeah, right, but..._ She set her backpack on the bench and dumped her sweatshirt on top. "Now what?"

"Now we check today's specials," Clarke said, and ushered her to the kitchen.

Two men stood beside a kettle of pale greenish liquid. The man whose face she could see was heavy set with a white apron and chef's hat. His eyes were jovial, face marked by deep smile lines under a thick salt-and-pepper beard. The other man was slimmer, taller, with sandy blond hair, wearing a plaid flannel tucked into jeans. Jake Griffin.

The chef grinned widely at Clarke, causing Mr. Griffin to turn. He offered Clarke a pleased smile before looking to Lexa, and bowing, just slightly. "Well, this is a pleasant surprise. From the talk I'd have expected Costia to be the one to bring you over."

"_Dad..._" Clarke chided, "don't be embarrassing." 

He gave her a wounded look. "I would never."

With a huff, Clarke turned to Lexa, "Ignore him. He thinks he's funny."

"Your mother thinks I'm funny. So does Madi. That's enough."

"Yeah, well you and Mom are weird and Madi's _nine_. Aden and I know better. Anyway... Lexa, this is my dad, Jake." She waved inclusively to the chef, "and this is Neil." 

Off guard at the surprise meeting, without a clue what to say, Lexa nodded to both men, adding "Hello Mr. Griffin, and, um, Mr. Neil." 

"Polite too," Mr. Griffin noted. "You can call me Jake."

Lexa nodded again, though that still felt too familiar.

Clarke glanced at her, gaze seeming to dart over her silhouette, then she scanned the kitchen and sniffed the air to identify the entrées in various states of preparation. Most Lexa recognized -- potatoes, chopped steak in gravy, but other scents suggested more exotic spices. Lexa's stomach rumbled, audibly, raising identical amused smiles from Clarke and her father.

"That one's a curry beef and vegetable stew," Clarke pointed to a simmering kettle. "It's really good, if you like spice? It's pretty mild."

"Sure." Everything smelled delicious, though it wouldn't do to seem too eager. Her jaw ached from salivating.

"Triple times two," Clarke told her father, then "We'll be upstairs, okay?"

"Full service," said Mr. Griffin, sounding amused. "I'll bring everything up."

"Thank you, Dad!" Clarke stepped forward to give her father a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, whispering something in what might have been a Scandinavian language. 

A moment later she told Lexa "Follow me," and led the way from the kitchen, grabbing her backpack as they passed it. Clarke stopped at the Employees Only door, unlocking it with a code on a keypad. It opened to a steep, carpeted stairway going left. A well-stocked shoe shelf stood opposite the door. Clarke removed her ankle boots and ascended a few steps, waiting. Lexa got the message and toed off her sneakers.

They exited another door at one end of a very long hall. Thick carpet the color of lush moss ran the length of it, and at the far end Lexa saw windows and a corner TV. A living room, she guessed. It would overlook the restaurant entrance. Directly to her left, bubble-domed skylights flooded sunshine onto a large dark-wood table and eight matching chairs. On her right, a balcony overlooked a rolling coniferous forest. 

Wait, that wasn't right. The balcony view was a painting, done directly on the wall. Lexa sidestepped away for a better look. The balcony itself had been crudely painted, rushed or incomplete, stark contrast to the scene beyond. Every tree had been lovingly detailed, tops rippling in a phantom breeze. In the distance, a thunderhead shadowed the trees to the right while light rain fell to the left. 

"Do you like it?"

She startled, noting that Clarke had shed her sweatshirt, revealing a blouse printed with grass and wildflowers. Her hair was a golden waterfall, inspiring a memory of blazing blue-white irises. Now, however, Clarke's eyes were as close to sky blue as anyone she'd ever met. 

Clarke ducked her head, seeming self-conscious, and Lexa returned her attention to the mural. Her gaze came to rest on a flock of birds taking flight at the edge of the thunderhead's shadow, tiny profiles shifting from dark to light. 

"Clarke, this is _amazing_. Did you paint this?" 

"Yes." A moment later Clarke waved to the dining table, "Have a seat." She selected the far corner chair, the position with the best view of the room.

Lexa scanned her surroundings, mapping hypothetical escape routes. Situated in the middle of the block, the rooms to the left of the main hallway wouldn't have windows. Skylights, maybe. Toward the alley-end of the home, a second hallway led from the kitchen & dining area to the rear deck, one door on either side. Bedrooms, she guessed, for Clarke's siblings? Rotating back toward the mural, Lexa noted a ladder on the outer stairwell wall, a hatch above it, and imagined rooftop star watching in sleeping bags, or summer picnics with a view of the whole valley. 

She sat at the dining table across from Clarke, almost in arms' reach of the refrigerator. Salivating crazily, she had to swallow before observing "Your father seems nice."

"He is. He really is. Also, he's a dork. Probably means I'm cursed to like dorks."

Lexa felt her lips quirk up. It wasn't a smile. "You're lucky."

"Because my dad's a dork?"

"Because he loves you." The words were out before her brain caught up. "I mean- Never mind." She felt the other girl studying her.

"I know I am. Believe me, I know." After a silence, Clarke added "He works shifts out in the Bakken Oil Fields. Each shift is a few months. He's gone for weeks at a time and it's... it's dangerous. I always end up thinking, _What if something happens..._ He... My dad's kind of the rock for our family."

_And I wished that a fatal _Something_ would happen to my father._ And it had. Lexa shook the thought away. Her gaze returned to the balcony mural, to the wonder of that vast wilderness. It reminded her of Siberia, of summers in her dreams of Yahna, over two hundred years ago. Clarke had painted that wall, had visualized that scene and given it form, here, in Small Town, USA. 

"I've always been an artist," murmured Ckarke. "That one was... a dream, a memory. I see things and I can't get them out of my head. Not until I draw them."

Lexa looked away, shut her eyes. The scenes that haunted her went into mental boxes, like locked safes, or coffins. "That sounds like good therapy."

Clarke chuckled, "It really is. I've had a _lot_ of therapy."

"Like... an actual psychologist?" _So that rumor was true?_

"Yup. Since second grade. It's-" Clarke cut off with a glance at the stairwell. "_Finally_. My dad's coming."

A few seconds later Lexa heard footsteps on the stairs. Jake Griffin entered with a platter of two salads and two large bowls, each full to the brim with beef, potatoes, and other mixed vegetables in the greenish liquid, which turned out to be a sweet, mild curry. Lexa complemented the cooking and the three of them made small talk about the food, then Mr. Griffin excused himself to return downstairs. 

Lexa didn't want to slow down, hadn't eaten food this tasty in years. Only as she finished did she realize that Clarke had nearly kept up, and was eating triple what their classmates would have guessed.

As if reading her mind, Clarke asked "Do you usually eat this much?"

"Yeah." She washed down a mouthful. "I have to eat like a linebacker to keep my curves, but it's nice not to need hospitals." 

Clarke responded with a wavery smile. "I just call it a fast metabolism. Has it's perks."

"How did you know how much I eat?"

"Dad noticed you ate two full plates before the dance, and Costia's commented on the size of your lunches."

So Costia was more observant than she'd given credit for. 

They finished the meal. Clarke stood and began transferring dishes to the dishwasher. Lexa rose to help. "Nope," Clarke stopped her, "You're my guest. This is my job."

"Is Costia spying on me?"

"No!" said Clarke, meeting her eyes. She continued gently, "Costia's liked you from the instant you met. She wants me to like you as much as she does."

"Oh." Stupid to ever doubt the bubbly blonde, just like Clara, who'd been the very definitions of 'dependable' and 'honest' with Hanna.

Clarke started the dishwasher and rinsed her hands. "Can we move this to the living room? We've got about half an hour until Dad picks up my sister."

Lexa eyed the stairwell door, forcing herself to breathe evenly. Clarke of all people ought to understand being overwhelmed by new people and situations, especially after Costia's reports. "Where is she now?" 

"LEGO club." Then, proudly, "Madi and Dad got the middle school started on this whole LEGO-STEM engineering program."

"Right, Murphy told me some of that." Facts clicked together. "And Costia's mom teaches history at your sister's school?"

"Mm-hmm. Mrs. Sinclair and my mother both grew up in Butte." 

"Huh." _Deep roots._

Clarke escorted her down the front hall, which Lexa put at close to fifty feet long. All the doors were on the left. To her right were murals, all unfinished, some no more than sketches on the eggshell paint. All were wilderness scenes, of mountains, forests, meadows, deserts. One rocky wasteland could be the badlands of the Southwest. Lexa couldn't place the others. They made her uneasy, made some dormant part of her ache. She had to look away.

Four tinted windows and a cabinet shelf spanned the front of the living room. Lexa crossed to the windows, passing between the TV and a comfy-looking bowl-shaped chair. She looked down at Montana Street, busy as ever on a weekday afternoon. Further out, she had a clear view of the train station, the Hotel Bolton, and the interstate. The overpass hid the little park and her house, though the hills beyond glowed dirty white in the sunlight. From here, Clarke could have seen the drifters follow her from the Bolton. Why she'd risk herself was a bigger question.

Almost directly below her, beside the eves over the restaurant's entrance, was the sidewalk where she'd stood in the dark, imagining Clarke listening to her ramble. That'd been what, two weeks ago? No, less. It felt like months. If Clarke had been sitting up here, on this shelf, watching her, that could have been more than her imagination. If.

Lexa turned, ready to ask, and her heart skipped. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covered the two opposite walls of the square room, packed with books of every size, from paperback novels to thick textbooks. A pine green L-shaped sectional sofa ran the length of the bookcases. A dark-wood coffee table sat in front of that. Clarke had settled herself on the corner segment, behind the table. She'd tucked her feet under her hips and covered them with a white fur blanket. Her hair cascaded over her left shoulder and down to her lap. Her fingers wove like porcelain minnows in a gloden stream. Winged by hundreds of books, eyes downcast under thick lashes, she looked... elegant. Regal. A fairytale princess who'd run away to live in the wilderness. A scholar princess turned hermit. 

"You're staring," Clarke sighed, and Lexa resumed breathing. 

"Sorry, it's just..." _Wow._ "Never mind." She stepped around the coffee table, noting an in-progress chess match at the center, and sat one section to Clarke's left, positioning herself to see Clarke, the hallway opening, and the windows at a glance. But the books were what drew her attention, as if to emphasize her own ignorance. Half the titles appeared to be science, technology, or medical textbooks. Others she recognized as literary classics and dead poets, and many with titles in other languages. Just reading the spines made her feel like an uncultured savage.

"Lexa, we don't _have_ to do this today." 

"Yeah, we do. _I_ do." She rubbed sweaty palms on her jeans, balled up and hugged her shins. "I'll be okay as long as it's just us."

Clarke tilted her head, fingers pausing. "All right. Where would you like to begin?" 

Lexa swallowed. "About a week and a half ago, I, um, I stopped by and- Did you hear what I said?"

"I don't blame you for the whistles, if that's what you're asking."

So she hadn't been hallucinating. "Okay, that's, that's really good. But... this will sound strange, but, did you like, _know_ that I was there? Or was it coincidence? Because I had this gut feeling that you were there, and you heard me, and it didn't make any sense but now I know it's _true_."

Blue eyes flicked to hers, and away. "Lexa, all my life I've had people telling me 'I dreamed about you,' or 'It's destiny,' so that doesn't really impress me."

"Oh." _Duh, pickup lines._

"Did you really mean what you said in Gym?"

"Of course. And if Ontari and Octavia don't back off for good, well, let's just say I'm not afraid to get expelled for a good cause." She'd done it in eighth grade, although granted, she'd known they'd move soon anyway.

"You'd do that for me?"

Studying the chess set, she said "Not _just_ for you. For Costia, too, and whoever else needs me." White had the stronger position. Check in two, checkmate in seven? In four?

"Is what you've done for Costia and myself any different from your behavior at other schools?"

_Huh? Why?_ Clarke's expression revealed only curiosity. "No, I've been standing up for other misfits since kindergarten. When someone gets pushed around for no reason, I'm the first to push back. Part of me can't let it go."

"Why?" Clarke asked. "Aren't you afraid of retaliation?"

With a snort she recalled Lincoln standing up for her despite the inevitable aftermath, watching helplessly as Titus belt-whipped him for her crimes, knowing that her brother's sacrifice was by his choice. Whether Lincoln had known or not, seeing him hurt had been a harsher punishment than anything their father could have done to her directly. 

"Because someone should," she answered, "and I can." She let that sink in before countering "What are you getting at?"

Carefully, Clarke said "I've never lacked defenders. The problem is when the same people decide I owe them in return."

"Like Finn," she guessed, "thinking if he gets Ontari and Octavia to leave you alone, you owe him a date. Or if the date's okay, you owe him another?"

"He's not the only one. It's an effect I have on some people. I have to be careful so that no one gets vindictive or violent."

_Vindictive or... Oh. Every time she turns a guy down, she's has to worry if he'll get physical?_ "How do you put up with it? Why not homeschool?"

As if she'd said it a thousand times before, Clarke responded "Because if I didn't I'd be isolated. School is a way to find kindred spirits, like Costia, and Wells... and now you."

Slowly, Lexa nodded. Clarke had the opposite perspective to her own, going to school because it was safer than staying home, even if the result was the same. They were both outsiders, both hiding their abilities.

"Thank you for what you said today, Lexa, for showing that I'm allowed to say 'no' to you."

_Allowed?__ You mean not getting upset?_ "Absolutely you are. I believe in 'say what you think, mean what you say,' and if people don't listen it won't be _my_ funeral." Clarke chuckled at that, nervously, but it felt like a win. "All right, new topic. Exactly what happened on Thursday?"

After a long silence, Clarke said "Costia called me after you left her house, so I knew you were upset. A while later I saw you leave the Bolton and run away. Costia and I still thought you lived to the north, with your brother, so I wasn't sure why you'd go west. Then a man and two women came out after you, and... Lexa, they were... they felt... corrupted? Evil? When they went the same direction I- I panicked and- Then I heard you scream. I got there in time to see that... that _thing_ kill the that woman and face you. I knew I had to do something to stop it, so I did."

"Oh-kaaay... That lines up with what I remember. But _what_ did you do? What was that ultraviolet lightning stuff?"

Clarke winced and began braiding her hair. "I don't know, but it _hurt_. It felt like burning alive from the inside out. I think- It was instinctive. I can kind of take a guess from Dad's books, but that's all it'll be, a guess."

"So then guess. You threw purple lightning that blew up a tree without burning it. How?"

"Alright... Maybe the beam weakened the electromagnetic force and broke all the molecular bonds. That turned the wood into a bunch of gas at really high pressure, like explosives but without the heat, and that's what burst the tree trunk."

_Weakened the electromagnetic force. Sure._ "If you say so... But, then why didn't Shadow Eyes blow up too?"

"I don't know. Lexa, this is all way beyond known science. It's metaphysics and mythology. It's _magick_." Clarke hesitated. "Guessing again, I'd say something about her neutralized the effect inside the bounds of her aura."

_Bounds of her aura?_ She took a moment to regroup. "Who else knows what you can do?"

"No one else knows about what you saw, and I won't do it again unless it's an emergency. Don't say anything?"

"My lips are sealed. But, how much have you said about _me_?"

Clarke focused on her hands, "Costia, Wells, and Aden know something happened to me Thursday evening, and that you were involved. They and my parents know we're having this conversation and a little about why." 

Lexa shifted in place, wondering what that meant.

"You can trust them. They've always kept my secrets."

"I guess that will have to be enough."

Clarke met her eyes, "Costia mentioned that you have nightmares and sometimes flashbacks. I do, too. Tell me about yours?"

_This is it._ Lexa shut her eyes and breathed deeply, made the leap. "I have dreams of being murdered. Over and over and over. I guess there are about six different... deaths, and a whole bunch of fragments. They _always_ hunt me down and kill me. Always in Europe. I don't know why. I call them 'demons', but all I know for sure is they aren't human. Could be past lives, but Goddess, I don't want-" 

She cut off, certain she'd said too much. Silence. No condescending laughter or unnerved calls for help. She peeked at Clarke. 

The other girl faced her lap, hands motionless in her hair. When she raised her head, her eyes shone liquid, at once elated and terrified. "I've searched for _years_ for someone else with those dreams. Thank you, Lexa. Thank you for trusting me."

"So, you...?" 

Clarke nodded and wiped her eyes with her sleeves. "Yep, all my life. High risk for panic attacks the day after."

"Me, too. Which I suppose is obvious from my freakouts on Friday and at the dance."

"Yeah, so... I try not to let those happen publicly."

Lexa tensed, unsure if the comment was sarcasm, teasing, or a joke. A second later Clarke's nose and the corners of her eyes crinkled in a genuine smile, and she got that it was all three. Clarke understood, truly _understood_. "Yeah, after the seventh or eighth time people start to think you're weird and crazy."

Clarke burst into raspy laughter, forcing out "And you're told... 'It was only a dream... it can't hurt you.' "

That wasn't remotely funny, but the words struck so true that she laughed rather than cry. "Or 'They're not _physical_ demons... so go pray!' "

Clarke bent forward, giggling madly behind the curtain of her hair. In shuddering breaths, she added "Then they find you in the convent... bad things happen... until they burn you... as a witch."

Lexa flashed to forest around her, felt the chains binding her wrists and ankles to the stump. The flames climbed her legs and set her hair ablaze. Blisters spouted steam, her blackened skin cracked. _They_ watched from beyond the pyre's lethal heat, condemning her to the soul-searing agony of it all. Chest shuddering, no longer laughing, Lexa hugged her knees and tried to see beyond the horror, to breathe through it. Acrid scents of burning hair and skin, of wood smoke, drowned out every restaurant spice. The only other was... lavender, close by.

Without conscious choice, she reached for Clarke's hand. It turned under hers, delicate, silken, and clutched with more strength than she'd have guessed. She squeezed back and received a sense of warm gratitude, of sanctuary. Her mind quieted, panic evaporating in that warmth, and the Burning Dream lost its hold. That had happened in a wild forest, nowhere near a convent. It'd been a different event, then, a trauma they had in common. One of many, she felt certain.

Slowly, Clarke sat up, face blotchy and tear streaked. She looked human. Real. Not the haunted porcelain doll everyone saw in school. Even more beautiful than before. She blotted her face with her sleeve, sighing "I'm sorry, Lexa." 

"Don't be," she said, withdrawing her hand. "I'm just glad I'm not the only one." 

"Mm-hmm." 

Clues from before their laughter snapped into place. "That day Finn caught you under the stairs..." She trailed off as Clarke went still. _Better to share first._ Starting where? Definitely not the Burning Dream. It didn't help that her most coherent visions were among the worst. Could she tell Hanna's story? 

Maybe. 

"Okay. Example-" Her throat constricted, lifetimes of secrecy warring with an almost confessional urge. Before Lincoln had left, her dreams had been too confused to explain. Since then she'd had no one to tell. The other girl waited patiently, never quite meeting her eyes. She tried again.

"Sometimes, I dream about this woman named Hanna, in Vienna, born during the Great War." She went on, relating Hanna's life in simple facts: 1930s Austria, an arranged marriage to Ernst, her arrest for protesting the Austrofacsists. Clara, she barely mentioned until the meeting at the Graben Street Plague Tower, and there her breath caught. To speak was to remember, and in remembering, Clara's face became Costia's. She couldn't get past the terror in her eyes, ended up rambling in circles about Clara and Ernst as Audra's hostages. The Tower's dancing brass cherubs sprang to life in her mind's eye, the drape of Ernst's sodden coat, and even the raindrops in Costia's hair. Raindrops glinting, Hanna's knees in the mud, and three sharp _pops_ at her back. Blood gushed hot in her throat.

Clarke touched her hand, said her name, and Lexa returned to the living room. Phantom pain radiated from three distinct spikes in her back. She blinked until it began to fade, unsure whether she'd mixed Clara and Costia's names, and Clarke squeezed her hand, _You're safe_. She'd failed to mention Audra's final words, but that could wait. She blotted her eyes, voice rough as she asked "Does that sound like any of your dreams?"

"Yeah," Clarke mumbled. "I remember bits and pieces of a couple lives. More than a couple. Before this life I was a woman in Russia. Six people -- demons, to borrow your term -- broke into my home. They shot me, then held me hostage to ensure that my husband would also surrender without a fight. He tried to free me or kill us all with a suicide bomb vest. It failed." She gazed into space, eyes glistening. "They executed us."

_'More than a couple' lives?_ But the scenario matched. "Why did they want your husband?"

Clarke only shook her head, a mix of _I don't know_ and _Don't ask_. "Do they have teeth like tiger sharks?"

Her skin crawled and she shuddered. "Sometimes. When they're pissed. Or hungry, I guess. One of them started to before Shadow Eyes showed up. What happened then, the blue flames... that was the first time I've ever seen them die."

A door opened at the back of the house. They both looked toward the hall at the echo of voices, a girl and Mr. Griffin. 

"That's my sister." Footsteps pounded down the hall.

"_Clarke_?" A pre-teen girl ran into the room and stopped. Her eyes darted between Clarke and Lexa, first suspicious, then angry. She stormed toward them. "Who are you?! What did you do to her?!"

Lexa took in the girl's black tee -- a grinning cat in dashed white lines, titled _Schrodinger's Cheshire Muse _\-- layered over a crimson long sleeve shirt and blue jeans. Madi's hair hung only to her chest, walnut-dark, perhaps favoring her mother, though her fierce green eyes were barely darker than her sister's. "I- I didn't..." She looked to Clarke. 

Clarke blotted her eyes and cheeks again, sighing "Because of course." Patiently, "Madi, this is Lexa, the one Costia keeps talking about? She hasn't hurt me or done anything bad. You don't need to protect me from her."

"Costia's hero?" Madi said with a suspicious glance at Lexa. "Then why were you crying?"

"Happy tears, _Hati_."

A beat later Madi snapped a question in a language that sounded older than German or Swedish, but a bit like both. Clarke replied in the same language.

"I better go," Lexa mumbled. She stood, hesitating as Clarke and her sister watched, then started toward the hall.

"_Freeze_, missy!"

She turned in shock at the girl's imperious tone. Clarke's little sister glared back, feet apart, fists on her hips. After a few seconds some of her anger shifted to embarrassment. Her stance didn't weaken.

Clarke rubbed Madi's shoulder in a clear _stand down _request. Madi responded in their secret tongue. Clarke's eyes flicked to Lexa, and she said "Madi, please go downstairs. I'll call you when we're done."

Madi's reply triggered another exchange, in what Lexa suspected might be Norwegian, or even Old Norse. Afterward, the little girl shot Lexa a warning glare and sullenly shuffled down the hall.

"It's alright, she won't listen in."

Lexa drifted to the windows, fingertips trailing over the pillows on the cabinet shelf. They were all very plush. She sat on one and stared out. Nothing much had changed on the street below. Sunset was hours away. Behind her, a door opened and slammed shut, followed by feet descending the stairs. 

"Lexa?"

She turned, "Look, I'm just going to say this. You don't have to be my friend to get my help. Not getting murdered is enough for me."

Clarke set aside her blanket and approached, hands at her sides. "What if I _want_ to be you friend?"

"Seriously? Before Thursday night, you hadn't said ten words to me. And this morning you were ready to ditch me. So I have to ask, did you really change your mind because of what I said in gym, or did Costia talk you into this?"

"Change my...?" She shook her head. "No, Lexa, _no_. This morning was about Ontari and Octavia's new rumors. We thought you'd take the news best from Wells. I'd already decided to talk to you; I just didn't know what to say. Please believe me, what you said only proved that I _can_ trust you."

_Damn those two queen bees._ A scream tickled in Lexa's chest. She let it out as a growl, moderating when Clarke stepped back. _Surreal._ "How can you put up with school crap for _years_ without crumbling or seeming to hate anyone, and you faced down Shadow Eyes without blinking, and yet _I_ make you nervous?"

Pale blue eyes searched hers. "I can't always tell how you'll react."

Lexa let out a sharp laugh, eliciting a flinch. "Sorry, it's just... that makes two of us." 

Clarke gave her a puzzled look in return, seeming to peer into her soul. It gave her the creeps, partly because she couldn't sense anything beyond a desire to set her at ease. That didn't change the fact that she'd already gotten her daily quota of psychoanalysis from the school shrink.

"That look is my cue to go."

"Lexa, wait," Clarke said, hope in her tone. Her voice roughened as she went on, "I- I feel like- No, not 'like'. Some of my worst nightmares _are_ real. I've been kind of falling apart. And, _this_-" she gestured to the space between them, "-this is huge. I'm overwhelmed, too. Please… just please." _Don't shut me out._

Eyes burning, Lexa swallowed thickly, and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'm maybe not great with heart-to-hearts."

Clarke laughed lightly, "Yes you are. Let me know when you're ready for the next one."

"I will." She hopped to her feet, "I'll see you tomorrow, Clarke."

"Have a nice evening, Lexa."


	17. Crossing Circles

Lexa did have a nice evening, even walking home along the same path where three demons had tried to murder her less than a week ago. Low sunshine glared in her face, but that was okay. Daylight kept the monsters away. She breathed deep and kept walking. Clarke liked her after all. Costia _really_ liked her. She'd swear she felt it, that even miles away and presumably focused on playing the notes laid out on a band pamphlet, Costia couldn't keep her thoughts away from Lexa. She'd be planning something, considering and discarding possibilities. For a date? Costia was a star burning in her heart, Clarke a thrumming in her cells, like power lines. Both of them, together, felt kind of wonderful, brighter than the sunshine. They felt like laughter and happy tears trapped in her chest. Like relief.

Lexa was smiling as she let herself into her empty house. Mom was working. Linc... who knew? Still, _It will be okay,_ she felt. _I have friends. This time, I have allies who understand._

She changed to sweat clothes, taped blades to her forearms and calves and went running in the hills. The fact that she'd prepared meant nothing happened. Disasters only came when you weren't ready. So of course she returned to a dozen messages and two missed calls from Murphy, all summarized in his first text: 'Sup with you n princess? You hot for her too?'

She glared at her phone, mood turning sour. _None of your business, Murphy._ He didn't understand. He couldn't. And why did he have to pick _now_ to get curious about her personal life? That had to be Clarke's effect, although her own mood swings couldn't have helped.

Algebra homework gave her an excuse to stay up late, dreading sleep, though her dreams were blessedly normal. Nothing more exotic than a screaming match with Murphy over his prying, venting her frustrations one after another, then clamming up with the realization that she'd given away her own secrets. _You can't tell anyone_, she insisted, _Not ever_, but soon the whole school whispered _Crazy freak_ behind her back, or sneered it to her face. Murphy laughed with Ontari and Octavia. She snarled and flew at them, kicking and punching and ripping at their perfect hair.

Lexa woke in a hot sweat, stood in front of the open freezer and knocked back shots of schnapps until her guts unclenched. It had only been a dream. Murphy couldn't expose secrets she kept to herself. Tell him to back off and he would, or else. Problem solved. She went back to bed.

Predictably, she arrived to find him leaning against her locker before homeroom, waiting as if she owed him some sort of explanation for talking to Clarke. She turned around and camped in a restroom until the eight o'clock bell, then rushed to class at the last second. Mr. Ben was death on side-conversations, so being in the front row stopped Murphy at questioning looks. She pretended not to notice and fled the instant the bell rang. 

"Lexa, wait up," he called, but she never looked back.

Murphy took the hint. For now.

Instead, Costia caught up to her upstairs, breathlessly calling "Lexa!" with an urgency that had her instantly turning in alarm, one hand hovering over the folding knife tucked behind the button of her jeans. Her new girlfriend practically threw herself into Lexa's arms, frizzy hair in her face and arms tight around her shoulders. Reeling, stumbling a few steps as she caught her, Lexa felt a hot kiss to her neck, inhaled strawberry scents, and shivered at a warm breath over her ear. "I missed you," whispered Costia, then pushed to arms' length. "You skipped homeroom."

Lexa gulped hard, gazed dropping to Costia's apricot lips, rising to her cinnamon eyes. She'd swayed half an inch forward before a squeeze on her shoulder reminded her of other students flowing past. 

"I really want to, but…" said Costia.

"Right." _But neither of us is Out yet._

With a guiding pressure on her shoulders, Costia turned her toward their History class. Lexa fell into step beside her, one arm slung around Costia's waist. That much might be overlooked. The touch kept them close. Costia's pleased smile soothed her.

At the classroom door, Costia nodded once, eyes bright with nervous energy, then pressed a paper slip into Lexa's palm. Lexa nodded in return, guessing at a suggested date. They both took their seats. Behind her, Lexa heard Costia hiss "I asked, 'kay? I asked."

Lexa unfolded the message, reading "I'd really like to take you to dinner. Tomorrow after class? Anywhere you want to go. (Maybe Sparky's Garage?) No pressure. Is it okay if I really want to kiss you?"

She twisted in her seat, ready with a radiant grin. Costia, though, had her eyes fixed on her textbook. Instead, Clarke met her gaze. Lexa flicked her eyes toward Costia, nodding _Tell her yes._ Clarke elbowed her friend, hitched her chin toward Lexa, and Costia looked up. Despite stiff posture and a clenched jaw, her brows rose in hope.

'Yes,' Lexa exhaled without sound, nodding acceptance. Slowly, Costia's lips curled up.

Then Mrs. Bryant called the class to order. They started the day's lesson. Lexa would have been surprised if Costia remembered any of it, because she certainly didn't.

When class ended she glanced to Costia, met her eyes, then rushed for the corner restroom, to the farthest stall and its greater space. After a nail-biting delay Costia followed her. Lexa let her in, latching the door even as her girlfriend's hands coasted up her spine and into her hair. Lexa turned in her arms. Together they slumped against the wall.

"Is- um, is this okay?" asked Costia, scratching lightly at Lexa's scalp.

"Yes," Lexa sighed, swaying into the touch, "Yes to all of it."

"Oh, good… then-" Costia pushed her into the corner, kissing her breathless. Her lips tasted like raspberries, her tongue like mocha coffee.

Lexa stifled a moan and tried to be silent. They both did. If anyone outside heard them or guessed at two girls in the handicap stall, at least no one interrupted. Only the warning bell split them apart. Costia rested her forehead against Lexa's, nuzzling nose to nose. "So um, class, huh?"

_It can wait,_ Lexa wanted to say, but that might call attention to them. "Class. Yes." _We could be caught._ She ducked in for one more mocha raspberry kiss, mumbling "We should go."

"Willpower," sighed Costia, eyeing Lexa's lips as she fumbled for the latch. "Willpower." The door swung out. She stepped away and their hands slid apart.

"I'll see you at Gym. Okay?"

"Kay. Yeah." Costia hurried off, and as the outer door swung closed, she hissed a "Yes! Go, me!"

Grinning in the mirror, Lexa schooled her expression toward bored resignation. Just another day, _blah blah teachers_, _blah blah Computer Apps_. She marched in, sat down at her usual work station.

From the back corner she heard a snort and the faintest whisper, _Got it so bad._ Lexa jerked around, glaring, but Clarke had her head lowered, hood up. Only the curve of her lips gave away a grin or smirk. Wells looked back with one brow raised in question. Then Clarke patted his hand, murmuring "Our girl is growing up," and with a grimace Lexa returned her attention to Mrs. Carlin's lecture. Stupid Martian tech language. Without Wells, she'd be- But halfway through class he came over to help her out. No pushy questions. She appreciated that.

Gym class couldn't have been better. Seeming to recognize that Lexa knew her way around the weightlifting room, Mrs. Indra called on her as one of the assistants. Ontari gave her a wide berth, not even meeting her eyes. The clones followed her lead. None of them bothered anyone. _Great,_ thought Lexa, but not being able to point to the reason made her uneasy. Ontari had to be planning something new. Whatever it was, ignoring the lot of them seemed the wisest tactic. She'd do that until she couldn't.

She stuck close to Costia and Clarke, just in case, and if Indra's designation as a spotter gave her an excuse to touch Costia just a little more than necessary, well, that was a perk. As they walked out of the gym, when Clarke said "I'm going home to shower, have fun with Math," Costia ushered her back to homeroom to eat their lunches. They sat in the last row and spoke of small, easy things, of shared classes and homework and math problems, desks touching as Costia talked with her hands. Their arms brushed almost constantly.

On a spare notebook sheet, Lexa wrote "What if someone notices us? Will your family freak out?"

Beneath that, Costia scribbled "Everyone who matters to me will be okay with us. In One Light souls don't have gender. Love is love."

Lexa swallowed thickly, blinked several times, and raised her eyes. Costia met her gaze, an uncertain smile on her lips. Cautiously, Lexa reached over, slid her fingers between Costia's, lacing them, and squeezed. Shaping silent words, she agreed _Love is love._ Costia gripped her hand tightly.

Awkwardly, pencil in her left hand, Lexa scribbled "Restroom?"

Costia stood up. "I have to pee." Chuckling to herself, Lexa followed a minute later.

Fifteen minutes later Murphy ruined everything. Him, and Ceramics, and _questions_ from the moment Lexa sat down. Not voiced, not right away. She'd give him that much. Still, he demanded answers with piercing eyes and a forced casual attitude, seeming to focus on his Hawkman. She knew better.

Lexa kept her voice low, relaxed, hands busy with her coil pot. "How's it going with Emori?"

"Awesome. She's great." He practically whispered, "How's it going with you and Cos?"

"Never been happier."

"Fan-damn-tactic."

She winced. "I'm sorry I've been flaky."

Murphy snorted. "Flaky? Flaky, she says. You've been weird since last week. Something happen?"

"No!" she said, too fast, and shut her eyes. In the dark behind her lids the not-a-prostitute woman's eyes glittering in amusement, she felt her own knife slam into the woman's oak-hard abs. Then a flash of the woman's head rolling on the dirt. Burning with blue flames. Shadow Eyes stepped closer. Clarke's irises blazed like some fallen angel come to her defense, ultraviolet energy gathering between her hands. Clarke, ever so gently lifting her up, helping her home. Clarke, who also dreamed of demons. 

"So, then, what's with you and Snow White?"

"We, uhm..." She raised her head, reading genuine concern in his furrowed brow. "We sorta bumped into each other, and we... We have some things in common."

"With _her_?" He leaned in. "Like what?"

She stiffened, skin heating. "Like none of your business."

Murphy sat back on his bench, lips pursed, fingertips stroking over Hawkman's base. "You never said why you flipped out at the dance."

"Very observant."

"That's me. I tend to notice getting punched for no reason."

_Breathe,_ Lexa told her self, and took a measured breath. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Yeah, yeah, got that, but Lexa, look-" He pointed to the angry bruise on his jaw. "You knocked me on my ass. Don't I get to know why?"

She studied the lines of her pot, swiped a fingernail inside it to smooth a rough spot. What would Murphy accept? _I can stall._ So she told him "Not yet."

"Not- A'right, fine. But it's got something to do with Clarke. I know it does."

Telling him about the demons would only cause trouble, and more so if he actually believed her. Lies would get her caught, probably by Raven when she found out. "I can't tell you anything else."

"Not _yet_." He tilted his head, studying her. "But you will."

"It's-"

"Complicated. No shit. But you'll tell me when you can, right, Kryptonite?"

_That won't end well for you._ But clearly, blockading him would blow up in her face. Hesitantly, she agreed, "When I can."

"Huh. I'm gonna hold you to that."

Lexa shook her head. "You'll regret it."

"Fine. Whatever. What else is new?"

The question sounded rhetorical. "You tell me."

He made it a peace offering. "You hear about the Spider Gwen movie?"

She frowned. _Is that_ _Spider Man's sister?_ "No?"

So he told her all about it. And she knew, _We're okay. For now._

* * *

On Wednesday afternoon she hung out for an hour at the auto shop with Lincoln. "I'm sure we could get you a job here," he told her, "if you want it."

"Maybe," she told him. "Is sixteen old enough?"

"It can be if I vouch for you. I know you know engines."

"Of course." She'd helped him rebuild a dirt bike, once, ages ago. Anya had known engines and motorcycles inside and out. In hindsight, Lexa felt certain that she could have rebuilt an AK-47 just as easily. At twelve years old the maintenance of automatic rifles had simply never come up. 

Lincoln gave her an application. Maybe he felt guilty for ignoring her. Maybe not. She asked him, "Are you sure you'd want me here?"

"Yeah," he told her, "You'll do fine."

That wasn't an answer, exactly, although it could be. With his help Lexa filled in her information.

Costia pulled up to the curb soon after she'd finished. The bell above the door dinged and her girlfriend grinned as their eyes met. A moment later Costia pursed her lips as her attention flicked past Lexa's shoulder, to Lincoln. 

Lexa glanced back, offering "I'll see you later, Linc. We've got stuff to do." She wouldn't lie to him. She'd vowed that, once.

"Sure," he said, watching Costia. "Be safe."

"Come on, Cos." The two of them walked to Costia's SUV, and though her legs tingled with an urge to hurry, Lexa told herself to relax. Lincoln knew her, she told herself. As a child she'd confessed dreams of monsters and deaths in other lives. Liking girls wouldn't change anything. Would it? But what if it did?

They buckled in and Costia started the engine. As they rolled to a halt at the first intersection, Costia covered her hand, squeezing gently. "How do you think he'd react?"

Lexa shook her head. "I think he'd be okay, but..."

"But what if?" Costia squeezed again as she pressed the gas. 

"But what if," Lexa agreed. _And Mom..._ "I think my mom will flip out." She twined their fingers, debating how much to say. "That shouldn't matter. I know it shouldn't, because she's never been there for me about anything else."

That earned her a concerned glance. "But it does matter. Parents always matter, even if they shouldn't." Costia hesitated, "Do you wanna go someplace else? My house or somewhere further out?"

"It's fine, Cos. Murphy said Sparky's Garage is good. We almost went there before the dance."

"Oh, well, I picked it 'cause the burgers are super juicy and I know you like meat. Plus, it's close to my house."

Lexa flashed a grin. "Good guess."

"I'm glad you're here, you know." Costia clenched her hand once more. "I feel like I've been waiting for you."

Lexa thought of Clara, of the tears in her eyes and the rain dripping from her hair, of Hanna on her knees in the mud, Audra's gun at her back. _Are you Clara reborn?_ Words she shouldn't say made a lump in her throat. _Is this a mistake?_

"Lexa?"

"I will do anything I can to keep you safe."

The car jolted and the brakes shrieked. Lexa shot out her hands, one braced at the dash, the other braced across Costia's upper chest.

But they hadn't been moving more than twenty miles per hour. Costia barely swayed against her arm. Instead, with a nonpulsed look, her girlfriend announced "No," and parked alongside the sidewalk.

"No?" Lexa echoed, pulse thumping in her neck. "No, what?"

Costia twisted to glare at her. "No. You don't get to push me away to protect me. Remember how I said I know too much psychology for that? 'Cause I do. Clarke tried that when we were little and then we talked and now I know all that stuff. If you don't want me you just say so, kay? But don't pretend it's for me. I'm not dumb and I know you've got secrets and there's bad things you're not ready to share, and that's fine. I'm not pushy. But I know what I want, too."

Lexa blinked at her, jaw working, at a complete loss for words.

"I want us. I wanna know about you, Lexa. I really did mean-" Suddenly Costia looked away, staring out the windshield. "Did I just say too much?"

Eyes pricking, Lexa shook her head. "I think I've been looking for you, too."

Autumn eyes darted to hers. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Just 'yes'? You know if you stay around I'm gonna poke into all your mysteries, right?"

Laughing a little, Lexa replied "That may take a while. _I_ don't even know all my mysteries."

"Cool." Costia put the car back in gear. "I'm patient." They rolled onward.

Two blocks later they parked in a square lot in view of the local college campus. Predictably, the restaurant was styled after an auto mechanic's shop. The rounded back end of a fifties' tow truck jutted from the weathered board & batten wall. Lexa hopped out first, quickly circling to offer a hand as Costia stumbled, as usual, at the step down to pavement. The effort earned her a quick kiss. Arm in arm they went inside.

Lexa scanned faces while they waited for a table. With the exception of two other BCHS couples -- seniors, she thought -- everyone else was college age, probably Montana Western students.

They got a window-side booth with a view of the college's frosted front lawn. At Costia's suggestion they ordered as soon as their waitress introduced herself; a double-stacked mushroom and swiss for Lexa, a salad and veggie burger for Costia. Lexa's smirk got a shrug in return. 

"I'm a pescatarian," said Costia, then listed all the reasons that was better for everyone, "Except the fish, 'cause obviously, yum."

They drifted across safe topics. Costia didn't ask about Clarke or anything else, only made conversation about the town and local shops until their food arrived. The fries were spicy, skins on and full of flavor. Her burger was better yet, large French rolls as buns with two greasy beef patties, messier than she'd guessed. Juice splattered her shirt and jeans despite two paper napkins on her lap. She'd been right to avoid the place in a formal dress.

"This is perfect," she said between mouthfuls. "We gotta come back."

"I know, right?" Costia replied. "My family comes here like, once a month. Next time you should try the cobb salad."

"Next time?" When the other girl froze, Lexa smiled. "Next time I pay." Costia had insisted that since this was her invitation, she'd pay. "It might mean working for my brother, though."

"Is that bad?"

"Awkward. Linc's supposed to move in soon, but he's barely been around."

"Oh. So, you know about cars? I'm like-" Costia made a strange twisting motion with her hands. At Lexa's frown she explained "I barely know which end of a screwdriver to use."

She snorted. "I'm sure you're not that bad. You're not dumb, remember?"

"Yep yep. Still, cars are like twist the key and _vroom_. It takes me where I want to go. I just have to steer and press pedals. Engines are a bunch of hot metal and wires to me. I don't touch."

"Cos, engines aren't magic." She tried her best to explain combustion engines, the elegance of a basic carburetor. Anya had known all of this. Heck, even Hanna had understood most of it, way back in the 1930s. Ernst had taught her everything he could about his motorized bicycle. As they cleared their plates, Costia's smile only grew. A waiter refilled their sodas, twice, as Lexa rambled. Light faded from the sky outside their window. She noted a certain sparkle rising in Costia's eyes.

"What's that look?" Lexa finally asked.

"You're really neat."

"Um... thanks?"

"Can I ask a serious question?"

"Of course."

Costia scanned the nearby tables, clearly assessing potential eavesdroppers. No one paid her any attention. Late on a Wednesday, they had this section mostly to themselves.

"Cos?"

Her friend's eyes returned to her. Her right hand snuck forward and Lexa met it halfway. Their fingers brushed and in a soft voice Costia asked "What would, um, what would you do if someone noticed us and said something?"

Lexa kept her voice to the level of a whisper, "I'd never let anyone hurt you, if that's what you're asking."

Costia flashed a megawatt grin. "I guessed, but nice to hear." The grin weakened. "I meant, um, it's a small town. People gossip, and- Secrets don't stay secret, you know?"

"Don't worry about me, Cos. The only thing-" She swallowed hard, gaze dropping to her empty plate, then met her girlfriend's eyes. "The only thing I'm afraid of is you getting hurt."

Solemnly, Costia nodded.

"When did you know? That-" Their fingers glided over each other.

"I think, always. Boys are _meh_. I've- Clarke and I have talked."

Lexa felt her forehead crinkle in question.

"I probably shouldn't talk about her; that's her story to tell. But- she knows. So does Aden. I haven't actually said anything to Wells but I bet he'd be all 'Oh, duh'. Zoe figured it out and I've kinda sorta said stuff to my parents. I think they already knew. It's not a big deal in One Light."

"Okay. Why not? Because that's kind of rare."

Costia shrugged. "I know, but I really don't get why that is. Like, we only have bodies while we're in them, right? We get old and we die and we start over. Why can't a soul be like 'Girls don't get to control their own lives, I'm gonna be a boy this time,' or the other way 'round 'cause being a boy just doesn't _fit_. I can see my soul picking 'girl' every time except once in a blue moon."

"I think I follow." It wasn't hard to see herself -- her soul -- making similar choices. It made a certain kind of sense.

"Good. So, if a soul doesn't have a body, it doesn't need girl or boy parts. It is who it is. Why can't it choose parents and a body that fits? One Light says we all pick _something_ that fits who we are. Parents or a body or a place, or another soul. A lot of us try to follow people we love."

Lexa frowned, trying to guess where this was going. "You mean soul mates?"

Costia shook her head, "No," then shrugged, "Sort of. That's only part of it. We're all connected to the people we care about. It's a web." She tapped her sternum and the circle-cross pendant tucked under her shirt. "And it's a circle. We follow who matters most. That can be one person or a bunch. But what if they're spread out? What if stuff happens and you move a lot? Then you can't find your people."

"But we still try?"

"Uh-huh," Costia nodded vigorously. "Some of us are better at reaching out than others. Obviously."

"Obviously," Lexa agreed, now grinning. "Do you think you've found your people?"

"I have now." Then, hesitantly "Does that make sense?"

"I think so, yes. That's what you meant by looking for me?"

"Mostly. You don't have to agree. If you're Christian or-"

"I'm kind of a pagan." For reasons she certainly wouldn't be going into now, like the fact that any hypothetical heaven or hell kept kicking her out.

"Oh." Costia blinked at her. "Kay, then..." she dropped to a whisper, though their nearest neighbor was two tables away. "Do you get the part where someone you love could choose a different body, then you'd both be girls or both boys? It'd change things. You'd have to decide what to do."

Lexa rocked back, spine flattening to her wooden bench seat. "I- I don't think I've ever looked at it that way."

"It's a lot. I know it's a lot."

She sipped her soda, mind whirling with the implications. _Anya and Little Sister._ _Hanna and Clara. Tatya and Raisa. How many others? _The earliest pair she remembered, Yahna and Kseniya, had been different. In all the lives since, her spirit had never cared for anyone so deeply as Yahna had loved that brilliant little Komi girl. Kseniya had been a gift, a treasure. She'd have surrendered and died a dozen more times to spare Kseniya from Audra's tortures. A hundred times. More.

And that, of course, had been the demon queen's entire point. _Surrender when I find you or I'll destroy what you love most. _Lexa sipped her drink and told herself that her hand wasn't shaking. In this life, that already meant Costia. She'd doomed herself weeks ago, unless she and Clarke could find another way.

"Lexa?" She met Costia's gaze, seeing gears turning and concern in her eyes. "I know you're worried about... you know, _stuff_. Stuff with Clarke. That's why you said what you did in the car."

"Yes." She couldn't lie. Not now. Not about that.

"Can I get you to trade a promise for a promise?"

She frowned. "Maybe?"

Costia leaned forward, reaching. Lexa mirrored her, entwining their fingers. Her girlfriend visibly relaxed at the touch. "Promise me you won't push me away? If something happens and it's really not safe, promise you'll tell me the truth and how I can help. Promise me that, and _I_ promise I'll listen and try my best to do what you need. Kay? Is that too much to ask?"

Lexa set aside her drink to clasp Costia's soft hands in both of hers. "It's not too much. I give you my word that I'll do as you ask." 

"Whooh-kay. Super." Costia shivered. "I really like you."

Her cheeks began to ache with the strength of her smile. "I really like you, too, Cos." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can see this one inspiring some controversy. What do you think?


	18. Watchers

The envelope that Marcus Kane would later decide had destroyed life as he knew it arrived on a Wednesday morning, in the middle of what had been an ordinary week. Not a slow week -- always he was busy from the moment he reached his desk until day's end, when his vision blurred and he realized he'd better go home before he made a critical mistake. Most days, the nation seemed to smolder with a thousand little threats. Any one of those could erupt into a militia group or a cult, or merely a rampage by some misfit with stockpiled ammunition & grudges. 

Agent Kane almost looked forward to the day when a suitably extreme event might justify collecting every firearm from households of the mentally unwell. That'd challenge second amendment definitions, he knew. Enforcement would be a nightmare. Without perfect timing it'd trigger a civil war. Still, he daydreamed of a safer world for Izzi. Daydreams didn't have to be practical.

On this particular Wednesday, the package was a manila folder set under his two monitors. Just an address for the SLC office and his name, and a stamp that said it had arrived yesterday, late. Return address was the Helena, MT office.

_From Agent Greenwald_. The envelope wasn't marked as classified. It wasn't Secret or TS. Agent Greenwald hadn't sent him an email, though she could have. She'd remembered what he'd told her. Electronic media didn't like these creatures. Digital photos had a half-life of weeks or days, before random events -- a server upgrade, lightning strike, software glitches, or the like -- made the data unreadable. By the envelope's size she'd sent a disk and printouts.

Agent Kane got his usual coffee in the kitchenette. One of his coworkers told ill-conceived jokes about the perps in the Denver shooting two months ago. High as kites with a love of FPS shooters, probably imagined their massacre as a game. _Har, har._ Sometimes they had to laugh or go mad. Kane drank his first cup as he forced amusement. Then he refilled, checked email, used the restroom when caffeine kicked in. Best to be fully awake for this. Again seated at his desk, Kane slid a fingertip under the flap and tore the seal.

The envelope contained printed summary and evidence forms, photo printouts, and a CD labeled "_Thursday, Oct 4 -- creepy drifters_". As he'd guessed, Agent Greenwald had done the writeup. Kane set aside the forms and CD. The first photos were blowups of bar patrons, all in the Hotel Bolton just after 7 pm. 

In black marker, loopy cursive had marked the first two as "Creepy drifters", "#1-2" and "#3". _#1-2_ showed a rough-looking cowboy and a curvy platinum blonde woman, arms around each other's waists. His trained mind cataloged recognizable details like the cowboy's boots and shiny metal belt buckle, his height at probably under six feet. The woman appeared only slightly shorter, in a white blouse and denim skirt. _#3_ was a second woman at a window-side table, hair of thick, jet-black ringlets, a bottle of whiskey swinging from her left hand. She wore a leather bomber jacket, no visible patches, and form fitting black jeans or leggings. In both printouts the background looked reasonably clear; a straight hall with windows opposite the bar and a mirrored dance area at the far end. In contrast, all three drifters had been pixilated beyond easy recognition, exactly as in Kane's closet bulletin-board photos. 

The sight chilled his blood. _This time will connect to a crime_.

"Southern biker couple" presented a middle-aged man and woman, both overweight in black leather. Kane mentally set them aside, expecting they'd be irrelevant except as witnesses, assuming they could be identified and located. 

The next photo was of a teenage girl wearing a gray backpack. A red streak like blood in her otherwise brunette waves ran downward from her left ear. She stared wide-eyed at the third drifter while the couple danced in the background. Again, pixilations obscured all three drifters' images. The reverse of the photo read "BCHS student? Didn't stay long and drifters followed her out." Below that, Agent Greenwald's neat script said "Alexandra Woods, 16, September transfer from Polis, Idaho. Father deceased 2012/08/25 in a DUI."

The last photo printout, pixilated almost into static, stopped him cold. The subject was a pale streak moving across -- leaping over, really -- an intersection. Negative lens flares like two black suns masked her face. The background sky was dark; only streetlights lit her form. Kane discerned only blonde hair and white skin, a feminine shape. _Is she naked?_

He set the photo on his keyboard, rubbed his eyes. When he looked again nothing had changed. _Eliza Lex._ He flipped the page, read Mel's note. It said only: "Same night, 19:58 at E. Virginia Ave. / N. Montana St." 

Phantom gunfire pulsed in his ears, men screamed. Marcus imagined scents of blood and spent gunpowder. _You were there, Eliza. You were there. Why?_

With shaky hands, Agent Kane checked the forms. Everything traced back to Terminus, Montana, to a bar in the Hotel Bolton. The bartender had raised an alert the next morning, after the three drifters departed but never returned for their pickup truck. Untouched, it still sat in front of the Bolton. The missing drifters had worried the bartender enough to forward the night's surveillance to the Helena FBI office. Mel had kept her promise.

Kane did his due-diligence. The CD wouldn't read properly. His computer complained of corrupted files. BCHS was 'Beaverhead County High School'. Alexandra Woods hadn't missed any classes, so this wasn't an abduction case. He'd look her up later. Terminus PD hadn't reported any unusual disturbances that night. Officers had stopped several cars for speeding, picked up one staggering drunk ranch hand, and made note of a fallen tree in a little park. None of it seemed notable, except the three drifters who'd abandoned their vehicle.

And yet, these photos tied the greatest mysteries of his life to a single small town.

"I'm going up to Terminus, Montana," he told his boss, SAC Prandel, then argued a bit over the cause. "It could be nothing." _It could be everything._ Prandel gave in. 

Kane called Greenwald as I-15 carried him over the border into Idaho. She picked up on the first ring, answered "I'll meet you there." She'd already reserved a room at the Sundowner Motel, a few hundred feet north from the intersection that Eliza had leapt across. By the time he reached the motel she'd begun scouring traffic cams and picked up takeout from a local buffet called "The Ark." They crowded the motel room's little table with laptops and food to review her findings.

"The Woods girl went west after she left the Bolton," Melissa told him. "Lives with the mother in a trailer home on the far side of the interstate. Bad choice, by the way, there's about a one in ten chance the home will get flooded in spring."

"Fine, fine," Marcus said, gesturing, _go on._

Mel nodded. "The three in the bar left a few minutes after Lexa Woods, also crossing under the overpass. Looked to me like they were following her."

"And?"

"And there aren't any cameras on the far side of the interstate. So I lost them. But follow this…" She produced a map, drawing a path with her finger from the little park -- a mile west, on the far side of I-15, where a tree had fallen -- to the intersection where she'd caught Eliza Lex mid-leap. "But I still don't see why she'd be nude."

"Streaker?" Kane said. "She was naked the first time, too. Let's try backtracking camera glitches." Two traffic cameras had malfunctioned that night, they determined, both minutes before their glimpse of Eliza Lex. The precise times pointed again to the I-15 overpass as well as the Hotel Bolton.

Greenwald rolled her neck. "I was right about the rabbit hole."

"You were," he agreed. They dumped paper boxes in the trash. Marcus dug into his suitcase for two photos. Alycia Clark he'd found in a backup police database after an arrest for auto theft, where, as usual, she'd escaped in the night. He'd generated a composite reconstruction of Eliza Lex from scattered glimpses on video. "This is them."

"Pretty," she said of Alycia. "A hacker and a con artist."

"And the latter two regularly underestimated for the former." Kane noted. "I'm betting they were both in town." Because all evidence suggested that where one woman went, the other would follow. "Maybe right here at the Sundowner."

In the morning they spoke to the motel's manager, confirming that he'd also been at the front desk last Thursday. He shrugged at Kane's photos, declaring "Lot of people come through in a week." The sight of their badges changed his tune. "Electric eyes see everyone. Let's check 'em."

Cameras above the front desk and overlooking the parking lot confirmed Agent Kane's guess. Alycia Clark had arrived shortly after 3 pm last Thursday in a 90's model Ford Courier, a two-door coupe, blue, with a cracked windshield and traces of rust on the sunburnt top. She'd been alone. The second outdoor cam had an oblique view of the rear end. "Make a printout," Greenwald ordered. She'd run the plates later. In the office Alycia Clark had requested one room, no preference on the beds, and paid all in cash, deposit included. 

Another camera had a view of each room's door. Alycia had entered her room alone with nothing but a suitcase. No one else except a pizza delivery boy at six. The camera had fritzed, briefly, at 6:38 pm. _About half an hour after sunset_, Kane calculated, remembering that first encounter. At just past 7 pm the video revealed a blonde woman in black leather and sunglasses leaving the same room. The view froze, glitching, as she jogged away.

"That's her," he told Greenwald. The manager had long since let them be. Marcus printed the image. 

"Fast forward," said Mel, her eyes intent on the screen, so Marcus did. The camera glitched again with "7:59 pm" in red at the upper left screen. Frame by frame, they stepped through the static. Twice, the lens had captured the white streak of an unclothed female figure moving toward one of the motel doors. 

Not even twenty minutes later, the feed went gray again with static. Two figures might have exited the motel. They might have sped off in the same blue Ford Courier. When the recording cleared, that vehicle was gone from the lot.

Agent Kane sat back to rub his eyes. "An hour and a half. Ninety-odd minutes. In that time something worried Eliza Lex enough to get out of Dodge that very night."

Agent Greenwald asked the real question for him. "What scares a monster who can shrug off automatic gunfire?"

They split up to try and find out.

* * *

_Chem lab report, Calc homework, History essay,_ Clarke mentally ticked off the assignments she'd have to finish after her therapist visit, trading books between her backpack and locker. Her English assignment was to read _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ Done. As Ilara Turova she'd read Shakespeare in four languages, had avidly watched plays and attended ballet versions with Dimitri. "What fools we mortals be," he'd misquoted, once, on their drive home. Ilara had rolled her eyes, but she'd loved her husband no less for stating the obvious. In dreams of earlier lives she'd leaned forward to avidly follow the same plays from royal balconies, from concert halls, and even a Chinese court. Whatever Mrs. Schreiber put on the quiz tomorrow, Clarke would ace it. 

The back of her neck itched with passing eyes. _Envision your aura as a an armored bubble,_ her books insisted. That worked up to a point. Her imaginary shielding still flashed hot/sharp with clashing colors and harsh noise as a particular pair of eyes marked her and her friends. Clarke braced herself as Raven's voice called "Looking good, Glinda." Then, laughingly, "You too, Mouse. You're strong like an _Amazon_ mouse."

_Dammit Raven._ A phantom heat flashed over Clarke's skin as Lexa prickled. She was aware, too, of Wells' attempt at a death glare, of Costia whispering to Lexa, "It's okay, she's just fishing for a reaction." Raven wasn't nice, exactly, but Clarke had seen enough over the years to know her thorns weren't personal. 

The tell-tale music of other, kinder eyes passed in Raven's shadow. Clarke inhaled peppermint, an impression rather than a real fragrance, and sensed an apologetic nod or look from Paul Bacon to her friends; _Raven is who she is._ Long ago she'd watched the two of them at a fourth grade birthday party, when, on a whim or a dare, Paul had invited her and Costia. His attention, though, had rarely left Raven. With the girl's every cutting observation, every smart-ass retort, the air above his skin had sung with bright lyrics that echoed the tunes he often hummed, usually pop ballads for broken romance. Raven's glow had been redder, paler and flickering with insecurities. Undertones like shadowed bruises told of buried hurts.

Last year after Finn's cheating, after waking up to Kyle's manipulations, Raven had finally turned to Paul for comfort. "Tell her," Clarke had suggested on a rare day when they'd been pared for a Physics experiment, "Take a risk and tell her how you feel." Paul's forehead had crinkled as he studied her. 'Witch' was a word that had followed Clarke since elementary school; she usually did her best not to encourage the idea. Paul had nodded, no blades in the colors above his skin. He'd simply read off the next step on their sheet. Whatever he'd said or done later, from the next Monday on, Raven's texture would mellow from glass dust & metal shavings to mere sand whenever she looked at him. Even now, at the edge of her vision, Clarke imagined a phantom cord linking Paul to Raven. With an impatient glance, Raven seemed to reel him to her side.

Lips pursed to mask a smile, Clarke zipped her backpack, turning with her gaze kept low. Her gifts often revealed far too much in others' eyes. Lower than the level of faces, Costia's fingertips teased Lexa's palm within a loose grip. The two of them stood hip to hip, hands outwardly hidden by the folds of Costia's floral skirt. Lexa scanned the hall as Costia chattered with Wells -- about early Aztecan history, today, and how things might have been different if Cortez hadn't died in the siege of Tenochtitlan. _Very different,_ Clarke imagined, but that wasn't the world they lived in. "Focus on what you _can_ change," Dad often said, and Clarke tried. The bubbly light of her dearest friends happily interacting made her want to dance. 

"Convoy, on!" announced Costia, and Wells echoed her. Feathers seemed to tickle her skin as Lexa shot Clarke an amused look.

"Convoy on," Clarke agreed, laughing in spite of the many eyes crawling over her, and slung her pack to follow Wells. Costia caught up beside her, exuberant as they followed the crowd down the side stairs. Close behind them, Lexa was a thrumming in her lungs, a lick of campfire warmth in a frozen winter night. New, strange colors arched from Lexa's chest and back like braided loops of pure sunshine and silvery-blue fire. That tangle of light had to run straight through her heart. All week it had been there, yet Lexa seemed barely aware of it. Not a peep about spirit marks on their Monday meeting, so Clarke let her be. _She'll tell me when she's ready._ Despite her wounded-animal volatility, Lexa felt… protective. And familiar. As she had from the day she'd arrived.

_Mín Vörðr, my Guardian._ Lexa wasn't though, not for sure, not with that unfamiliar light arcing from her sternum. Besides, Costia with her giant heart had been the first to reach out, the first to believe in Lexa. "I like her so much," she'd confided last night, with Madi conked out on the sofa between them. Her date with Lexa had been everything Costia hoped. "She's sweet and she's kind, and I think she likes me even when I'm pushy." Clarke had snorted none too delicately at that. 'Pushy', for Costia, usually meant hugs and aggressive support, ready or not. "Cos, sweetie, you're too adorkable to be pushy." "Rahrr," Costia had growled, "I am _so_ pushy." Clarke's laughter had been loud enough to make Madi groan. Together they'd escorted her sister to bed. 

No, bringing Lexa into their lives wouldn't be at all like Kseniya bringing home a strange woman she'd met in the forest. By all the gods she remembered, Clarke prayed this wouldn't end the same.

Downstairs, the four of them emerged into crisp sunlight and cottonball clouds. Wisps of cigarette smoke carried on the icy wind. Wells coughed and Costia waved her hands to clear the air. They exaggerated, really, with only four smokers in puffy coats leaning against the wall. To their left, a string of students hurried across Helena Street to the warmth of the gym, eager to claim seats for the volleyball game. Others bundled up and scattered for their homes. 

The wind blew into Clarke's hood and threw it down. Chill air caressed her ears and she was aware of her hair swirling golden in the sun. Ripples of attention from her classmates itched like ants on her skin. Ignoring them as best she could, she strolled past the smokers to clear air and north side shade. She wouldn't have to wait long. A light pressure in her chest said that Mom was already on her way out of the hospital. 

Her friends gathered around her. 

"Is Jake picking you up?" asked Wells, kicking at a crust of snow. It always lasted longest here, in the shadow of the school. He'd never liked that she saw a therapist. In his eyes, she ought to be able to tell him anything, including her nightmares. 

Clarke shook her head. "Mom's taking me today." 

"Oh. Alright." Wells had been her self-appointed shieldbearer from the week they'd met. He'd always looked at her as if she'd been the reason he'd survived the crash that killed his mother and sister, not her own mother and the other doctors who'd put him and his father back together. To know the full truth of her dreams could change that.

Already shivering, Costia pulled on mittens. "When I grow up," she announced, "I'm gonna live someplace with more than Winter and August." Costia had twenty-some minutes to get ready for Band and the Volleyball game. Frozen or not, she'd stay until Clarke left. 

Lexa unzipped her jacket several inches with an offer in her eyes. Costia nodded vigorously, then hummed contentedly as Lexa enfolded her in warm wings. Neither of them seemed to notice as the light from Lexa's heart pierced Costia's chest. Tendrils of sunshine flickered over her skin, a familiar blending of energies. _They've met before,_ Clarke guessed, and wondered at how that wove into similar conclusions she'd reached years ago; Costia's soul had followed hers, too. "Wow you're warm," Costia mumbled, each of them nuzzling into the others' hair, "Clarke's never this warm."

With a raised brow, Lexa glanced up. Chuckling, Clarke shrugged. "What can I say, I love winter."

"Yep," Costia chirped, arms clinging beneath Lexa's jacket. "Clarke can walk around barefoot in the snow, and she's _fine._ It's cheating."

"Cheating?" said Lexa with sparkling eyes, arms at Costia's waist. "I don't mind snowy feet as long as there's a campfire to thaw my toes."

Costia blew a raspberry against Lexa's neck, then declared "You're both weirdoes." 

Softly, Lexa whispered into her girlfriend's ear. They stood nearly at her shoulder. Clarke heard clearly. "I really like you, Costia Sinclair."

Chest tightening, Clarke had to look away, abruptly recalling a similar voice with a similar tone, lifetimes ago. A calloused, feminine hand had lifted, palm up in offer of a log cabin encrusted by lichens & moss. The forest had grown close around it. The trees themselves wished to guard it. ~See?~ said Lyrah, ~See, Klarke, it is still ours. Your wards preserved it. This forest misses us. The trees have kept it hidden.~ The roof had been sod over rough-cut planks over irregular logs. Wood, all of it, in verdant forest. From rain & snow alone the cabin should have long since collapsed to ruin. It hadn't. Because she'd loved this home, because they both did. They had loved it across lives and centuries. The two fire-blackened lindens had long since fallen. Elderly trees grew where they had been, horrors of the past erased from all but their dreams. 

Lyrah had led her inside. Forest critters had been unreasonably kind to the furniture. Every rune-scored log had endured. Her charcoal sketches had faded, though every carved illustration remained. Herb baskets in the rafters had grown up through sod to sunlight & clean rain. Even their bed frame, with a hundred faerie tale scenes cut by hands she remembered as her own, felt sturdy as when they'd made it. They had only to replace the rushes and drape fresh furs, then weave a new grass curtain to conceal the little bedroom. ~It's still ours,~ Lyrah breathed across her ear, their arms twined over Klarke's middle, ~I think it has been three-hundred years and this is still our home.~ Eyes burning, tears hot on her cheeks, Klarke had twisted in her lover's arms for a fierce kiss. 

~Ours,~ Clark sighed, in a language only scholars still spoke. The wind tossed her hair. It blew across her face. Momentarily hidden, she wiped lightly under her eyes. Her fingers came away dry. The vision/memory had lasted only seconds.

"You all right?" asked Wells.

"Yeah." Moments like this were normal for her. Over the years they'd told him enough to convince him not to pry. _Hug?_ she thought, barely voicing the word, and leaned into him. Immediately Wells wrapped her in his arms, one cheek coming to rest on her crown. His aura felt healing, greens and browns mixed with urban scents, a touch of antiseptic for his past and his calling. Wells had always wanted to help. She filled her lungs with his presence and felt peaceful.

But good or ill, nothing lasted. Clarke's only warning was a sudden blast of tiny insects seeming to batter themselves against her skin, and her clothes offered no protection at all. She tensed, fingers curling to fists, gritting her teeth against the embarrassment of a scream. Wells pulled back and clasped her hands. He said her name, "Clarke, Clarke...", as they'd taught him, attempting to coax her out of herself. 

She gulped a breath. The swarm had a direction. Hate glared from her left, from a muddy blue truck, four doors, off-road tires and raised suspension. It rolled across the intersection from the gym parking lot. Bellamy Blake scowled from behind the wheel, three passengers in the back seat. Charles Pike hung out the front passenger window. This time the malice in his eyes wasn't entirely for her. Clarke spun on her heels and knew that she should have at least yelped. "Cos!" she got out, "Lexa!"

"DYIIIKES!!!" howled Pike, so loudly that everyone turned to look. 

Lexa spun and lurched, putting her back to Pike and pressing Costia's spine to the school wall, one hand cradling her head. Lexa braced herself there. Her body shadowed Costia as best her lean figure allowed. Even their foreheads pressed together. Blades of crimson fury and sickly yellow flashed above her skin.

Clarke shrugged free of Wells, both of them glaring as Pike bellowed his amusement. The truck's engine revved, Bellamy pressing the gas to speed away. Heat prickled her skin. Fists clenched, Clarke marked the signature colors of three names through the rear window: Ontari, Octavia, and Atom. Pike cackled for two more blocks. 

_I see you. I mark you, Charles Pike._ In her mind's eye she envisioned three circles and a star, lines of red ocher, salt water, and ashes, elder scripts as prayers for justice. Not blood magick, not yet -- the resonance of black hexes would inevitably taint her -- but _gray_, gray justice with vials of collected tears and a catalog of unanswered wounds, like this one to her dearest friend. That she could do. Pike had crossed a line that Ontari and Octavia never quite had. Tonight she'd scribe a gray binding of karma and earned punishment. _Each time you hurt us without cause, Pike, your punishment will be three fold worse._

"Clarke?" said Wells, for the third or fifth time. "Clarke? I don't think I like that look," and finally she wrenched her gaze from the receding truck. 

_Later._ Her skin tingled under the rasp of bystanders' attention. With lowered eyes, glaring past the group to her left, dodging their faces, she shouted "What are YOU looking at!" Embarrassed if not intimidated, most of their audience looked away. The itch lessened. Still, her skin felt blazing hot. Clarke unzipped her coat, gathering her composure before turning to her friends. 

Costia wept with shock, gasps and hiccups between her words. "I'm, I'm sor-sorry. They know, soon everyone's gonna know." 

Lexa cradled her close, crooning reassurance, though her cheeks, too, glinted wetly. "I don't care," she insisted, "I don't care what Pike or any of them think. They don't matter. You do. Like I promised, remember?"

"Course I remember. That was yesterday."

"Good. I'll do what you need, Cos." _I'll break him if you ask it._

Eyes widening, Clarke looked away. Had she really heard that? Wells still hovered beside her. With a step she leaned against him, faced away and pressed an ear to his chest. As always, he held her securely. His heart thumped in his chest. She focused on that sound, on the pulse and flare of his life force, instead of Lexa's whispered assurances. Still, Lexa's silent resolve sparked and hummed like lightning in the air. 

_I need to deal with Pike so that they'll never have to._

The demons she'd dreamt of had proven themselves real, after all. Perhaps the time had come to risk a little black magick. Pike could be practice.

"Is that...?" Wells lifted his chin from her hair. "Yeah. Abby's here."

He was right. She felt Mom watching. Brakes squeaked as Clarke blotted her eyes on Wells' coat. His arms eased just enough to let her do so. With the thunk of an opening door, she heard her mother's voice.

"Wells? Something happened. Costia? And you're Lexa, right? Clarke, what happened?" Abby rubbernecked, Momma-Griffin talons threatening every other classmate. Most of them suddenly had better things to do.

Clarke drew a calming breath. "It was Charles Pike. He's gone now. I'll tell you on the ride."

"You'll tell me _now_," ordered Dr. Griffin. "Costia, why are you crying? What happened?"

Still huddled at Lexa's side, Costia mumbled, "I think we just got outed."

"Out- Oh. Ohh, Sweetheart." With a decisiveness that Clarke envied, Abby immediately pulled Costia into her arms. A moment later she collected Lexa as well, wrapping an arm around each. "You too, Lexa. Costia's said so many good things about you. So don't you worry, either." Stalwart until now, Lexa's eyes crinkled. Her breath hitched and Clarke felt an answering throb in her own chest. "We'll tell your dad, Cos. Charlie Pike has been a menace since he was twelve. I'll tell the board and his dean and this time they _will_ listen."

Several phone calls later, with Abby thoroughly indignant and key parents made aware, after repeatedly assuring Costia and Lexa that Pike would be punished, Abby bundled Clarke into the minivan. 

The two of them were halfway to Butte before Abby stopped fuming enough to ask "Is this why you and Costia were up so late last night? Did she tell you?" 

"Yes, Mom, she told me. Two _years_ ago. Costia's always liked girls. Last night was because she and Lexa had their first date."

"So none of this had anything to do with Monday?"

"No."

Her mother's lips narrowed in thought. Clarke psyched herself. Then, "Do you still think Lexa is 'like you'?"

_Easy._ "I'm sure of it."

"You're convinced she isn't lying that she's dreamed about _draugr_?"

"_Completely_ convinced."

Mom shot her a doubtful look. 

Beyond that, Clarke read the sound and light and texture of her mother's skepticism. "Come on, Mom, you know what I can do. It's all over the house. Is it so hard to believe that I'm not the only one?"

"Yes." Abby reached over, squeezed Clarke's hand. "Sweetheart, you are special in ways I can't explain. You always have been. Every parent wants their children to be gifted, but you... Your dreams..."

"And nightmares."

"And your nightmares," her mother agreed. "The monsters hunting you- I just- I wish- Sweetheart, you're only sixteen."

_Going on a thousand._ "Lexa has the same dreams. She calls them 'demons', but whatever they are -- _draugr_, _yāomó_, hellspawn, _strigoi_, archons -- they're out there. We need to be prepared."

"How- How can you be so sure that you both aren't- That the monsters are real?"

_She's not ready._ "I am one-hundred percent certain."

"But _how_?"

Clarke struggled to find the words. Dad already believed her. So did Aden. As brilliant as she was, Madi simply accepted everything Clarke said as divine truth. Her mother needed testable evidence. "When I was six, I drew shark teeth in a human face. 'They ate me,' I said."

"That's not something a mother forgets. You were terrified."

Those teeth had been a reoccurring theme in her journals. "Do you remember what I saw in Wells' aura?"

"Blood in a crushed car." But she can hear her mother's confusion at the change of topic.

"Yeah. I knew. So please believe that I know now."

"Because of Lexa."

Clarke looked away, gazing out at the rolling plains. Barbed wire fences lined the interstate. Further off were rolling fields of tan grass and crusted snow. In the distance, white-capped mountains ringed them in all directions. Clarke loved Montana. She loved Terminus and the Big Hole Valley. Costia and Wells had quite possibly followed her across lives, as had Aden and Madi. And Lexa... Last Thursday had destroyed any possibility of denying the inevitable. "Yeah, because of Lexa."

* * *

"Finally," said Agent Greenwald's voice from Kane's cellphone, "Crowd's leaving the gym. Looks like the home team lost." A minute later she added "Woods girl is headed your way. Alone."

"Confirmed," muttered Agent Kane. "Guess that makes it showtime." He set aside his iced Coke, resettled his plaid flannel overshirt, and checked the locations of each photo in his pockets. The front bar window offered an ideal view along the eastern four blocks of Bannack Street. The sky had darkened toward dusk under the blustery, overcast sky. The sun had dropped behind him.

"No rush. The girl's only walking. Looks like she's got a lot on her mind."

"I ever tell you that you're kind of dull on the job, Mel?" 

"You might have, _Marc_." He thought he heard a smile in her tone. "But for now... I got that yearbook PDF." There'd been some sort of drama after the high school let out, before the game. Some asshat had made a scene. _Kids._ Greenwald went on, "I'm reasonably sure the friends are Costia Sinclair, Clarke Griffin, and Wells Jaha. All locals."

"Say those names again?" Kane kept his voice low, casual for the watchful bartender, although, oddly, she'd struggled to remember the three drifters or why she'd sent records to the Helena FBI. The local cop who'd assisted in opening the drifters' truck had been 'Sergeant Sinclair'. Greenwald repeated the names. He swore under his breath.

"Colorful."

"I'm a colorful guy. Does the Sinclair girl have a father on the TPD?"

"Hold on..."

Officer Sinclair and Agent Kane had spent hours photographing contents of the white truck parked outside the Bolton. That certainly had been eye-opening. Coiled rope, heavy chains, and locks in the bed might've gone unremarked in Montana. Same for the three canvas duffel bags of clothing. But under those had been a fourth bag. That held a dozen guns and a militia's worth of ammo, too many knives, several grand in rolled cash, and all the kit for experts to thrive in a wilderness. He'd opened the glove box to find a silenced 9mm pistol and two burner phones still in the plastic. No drugs in sight, which surprised him given the weapons. 

No IDs, either. They hadn't uncovered a single license or a passport or even a vehicle registration. The truck's VIN traced back three years to an auction in Texas, where -- surprise, surprise -- the buyer had been dead five years. The lone laptop, he hadn't dared turn on; he'd take it back to SLC for the techs. No telling what suicide codes lived on the drive. Agent Kane fervently hoped Forensics could pull prints; both their test kits had failed.

At the end of it, they'd returned everything to the vehicle. The truck was bait. Marcus had camped in the Hotel Bolton's bar (_kind of nice, really_) to see if the Woods girl might volunteer anything.

"Got it," said Greenwald. "There's a Sergeant Ronald Sinclair on the Terminus PD. Twenty-one years on the force. He's second for the town."

Kane sighed, "Of course he is." _Sergeant can tell his daughter can tell the Woods girl._

"Mm-hmm." Greenwald gave him a beat of silence. "And... I think there might be more."

_When isn't there?_ "Go ahead."

"Remember the blonde girl on that traffic cam?" Greenwald had been digging through recordings all day. "The one in just a thin sweater and a skirt?" 

"Out after eleven and underdressed for a frosty night. I remember."

"That girl looks a lot like this Clarke Griffin."

"Oh, fuck me." He pressed thumb and finger tips to his eyelids. "Pardon my French."

"Pardoned. I had the same thought, but... less poetic."

He snorted. "See if you can confirm that?"

"Already on it."

"Anything else about freak weather last week?" He'd visited the little triangular picnic area, rivers on two sides, 'Ten Mile Road' along the third. Cornell Park would be a nice summer picnic spot. Oddly, the one fallen tree hadn't shown the least sign of scorch marks. Splinters everywhere, no trace of a fire. The cause couldn't be lightning. The claw marks had worried him more. Eliza Lex had been at the scene.

"Only the snowstorm. Nothing 'freak' about it."

"A man can hope." Outside, Agent Kane spied a lean teenage girl walking in his direction on Bannack Street, recognizable by the red streak in her wind-tossed hair. "Okay, got contact. I'll check in after."

"Confirmed. Greenwald out." The line clicked off.

Marcus pocketed his phone and mentally reviewed his story to get into character. Time to become _Clint Daso, worried dad with a missing daughter._ If that failed he'd try out _Clint Daso, bounty hunter._ He shrugged on his coat as she crossed the railroad, timing his exit to stride outside as she neared the Bolton. 

Head down, the girl seemed far more focused on her own thoughts than her surroundings. _Oblivious or confident?_ He put her at 5'5", 120 pounds. She moved as if very comfortable with her own body. The waves of her thick mane danced in the wind. Brunette to the roots, all of it, except the streak of red behind her left ear. _She's beautiful._ She'd often be underestimated. Below a puffy gray jacket with the hood blown down, she wore the skintight stretch jeans that seemed to be everywhere lately. Shapely calves and thighs identified her as a regular runner. _Confident,_ he decided. _Bet she can outrun me, easy._

He waved to her from across the street, smile friendly and anxious, calling "Hey, do you live around here? I'm looking for my daughter, Emma."

Alexandra Woods glanced up, green eyes visibly irritated at the interruption. A moment later she relaxed and answered "Yeah."

"So, uh, Emma ran away from my ex last week. They don't get along so well." 

"Okay." She looked him up and down, seeming to size him up. 

"I'm Clint. Clint Daso." He moved as if to offer a handsake, then thought better and retreated. "I think Emma's friend might've convinced her, Laurie? Or Laurie's boyfriend, Jack. I dunno." At Alexandra's lack of reaction he waved toward the white truck, watching her eyes, "That's Jack's truck. You have any idea what happened to them?"

The girl tensed. Her eyes hardened, seeming to stare through him. Watching his body language more than his face. _Gotcha._ In the next moment her fingers twitched, curling halfway between fist and flat, fingers together. She took a quarter-step back, though her balance shifted forward. _Well _that's_ interesting._ The girl had martial arts training. She might fight him instead of running. Kane kept his posture non-threatening. He'd failed if she felt the need for either. 

"The truck's been there since last week," she finally said. "I haven't seen anyone around it." Her voice was low and a bit rough, edgy.

He played along, pressing her like a worried father. "When last week? Wednesday? Friday? Anything you can tell me helps."

Alexandra's green eyes met his, watchful and somehow _cold_ in a way he'd never seen in someone so young. Her breath had deepened, he realized. Her posture had loosened. With a slight shrug she asked "What did the bartender say?"

A chill ran down his spine. She'd read his deception. _Time to switch tactics. _ "My daughter isn't really missing. The owners of that truck are wanted murderers. I'm tracking them." 

She only studied him, unsurprised. "Okay. And…?"

"And I think you might have met them." He reached into a shirt pocket, unfolding a sheet of composite photos. He'd had to guess a bit, of course, given the drifter's un-photogenic qualities, but his reconstructions had been enough to jog the bartender's memory. "Familiar?"

He watched Alexandra's eyes narrow, flicking to his as she asked "Who are you?" 

"Charlie Daso. Bounty hunter." 

With a measured breath, her stance seemed to simultaneously tense and relax. "Who are you _really_?" 

A charge seemed to build around her. Fine hairs at the back of Kane's neck stood up in warning. _She's only sixteen,_ he remind himself, _and I'm half again her size,_ but his heart sped up just the same. Slowly, deliberately, he returned the sheet to his pocket. "Special Agent Marcus Kane. FBI Counterterrorism." 

Alexandra's eyes widened. She stepped back.

Slowly, Kane lifted his overshirt from his waist band, unclipped and showed her his badge. Her expression said she genuinely hadn't expected this. _But she didn't blink over me as a bounty hunter._ "When did you see them?"

"At the bar last Thursday night." Again, she watched his eyes. "They chased me. I got away. I haven't seen them since."

_I don't scare her, but the Bureau does. So do these creatures._ "Why were you in the bar?"

"It's old. I was curious." 

Kane reached into his left shirt pocket for two more folded photos. The first was a police mug shot of a pretty woman with long brown waves and hazel eyes. The plaque at her chest read 'Alycia Clark, 2009-08-05'. "Have you seen this woman?"

"Nope," she said, and he believed her.

He swapped sheets, now revealing Eliza Lex. Smiling, because that much was easy in a composite reconstruction. He'd taken a guess and put her in medical scrubs. "What about her?"

"I haven't seen her either." But the girl had stared a moment too long for his liking. "Who is she?"

_All right, why not?_ "Her name is Eliza Lex." 

"Eliza Lex…" the girl repeated as if memorizing the name. "What did she do?"

"Murder," said Kane. "She killed nine cops." _Special Forces, probably, but close enough._

Alexandra Woods looked away for a second, micro-expressions flickering across her face. He recognized shock, confusion, resignation. "Then I hope you catch her."

_You met her. And you still won't help me._At ease once more, he returned both photos to his shirt pocket, then offered a business card. "If you see any of these people, or remember anything that could help me find them, please call me. Day or night." 

The girl took it, read it. Below his name were his FBI office and cell phone numbers plus an email address. Her thumb stroked the Bureau's embossed seal. "If I think of anything."

"One more question." Hands in his pockets, entirely casual, he dropped one last trap. "What happened to the tree?"

Alexandra blinked. "Lightning." 

_Huh. _"Lightning chars the wood."

Her cheeks pulled in a snarl. "It was lightning. If you don't believe me, leave me alone." 

_You were there, too. _Chuckling, he told her "You'd be surprised what I'd believe."

"Whatever." She stepped around him, striding toward the underpass and, he presumed, her home. 

"Have a nice evening!" he called after her. But the only response he got was a wary glare.

Once she was out of sight Kane arranged to have the drifters' truck towed to the Helena office. Then he called Agent Greenwald. "That was fascinating," he told her. "You need to hear this."

They met at their motel room. He replayed the entire conversation from his phone. At the end of it, Agent Greenwood said "She met the drifters _and_ Eliza Lex. Do we bring her in?"

"If we do I guarantee she'll clam up. I think our best bet is to watch and wait. Something will come up."

"All right, then we follow leads from the truck?"

"We do. And we keep track of this town."


	19. Hit the bottom and escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just wow. The news is surreal. I'm okay, but I can barely imagine what this virus and responses have done to some of your lives. I wish you all well in this difficult time. Blessed be.

"I told everyone." Costia plopped into the desk-chair beside Lexa's. Puffy skin ringed her eyes. 

Lexa's heart skipped. Wondering at the evidence of more tears than she'd witnessed, she reached over to feel the warmth of Costia's shoulder blades and spine sliding beneath her palm. When Costia slumped in relief, she echoed "Everyone?"

"My family. And Clarke's mom, 'cause she called, too." When Lexa's hand paused, she added "Keep rubbing. I like it. And I need your number."

Snorting, Lexa reached left-handed to dig a spiral notebook & pen from her bag. Writing with her dumb hand took about ten times as long. It gave her time to think, to realize, _I'm really okay with this._ She tore out the sheet for Costia. Arriving early had let her claim two desks at the back corner of Mrs. Bryant's room. Whispers and notes should be safe from eavesdroppers. Costia scribbled her own number, then typed Lexa's into her phone.

Lexa kept rubbing circles, gratified at the way her girlfriend slumped, and asked "How, uhm, how did your parents react?"

"Fine." The two of them had huddled in a restroom stall for most of the game yesterday, Band performance be damned. Costia's mother had picked her up. With a hug for Lexa, too, just like Mrs. Griffin, as if she belonged for no greater reason than that Costia had chosen her. "They only care how you treat me," said Costia. "And Dad worries about me being safe."

_So do I._ Prickles raced over her skin, chilly as stepping into a cold shower. Lexa blinked against that last memory of Clara, standing in the rain, hair matted to her cheeks, soaked and horrified. "So do I."

Costia darted close. Wet heat touched her cheekbone with a hum of pleasure, then a sigh into Lexa's ear, "You're sweet."

Her pulse stuttered, heat curling low in her belly. "I'm not. Cos..." _I don't deserve you._ "If Pike-"

"I know. Kay?" Costia's soft hand blanketed hers. "I know you would." 

Lexa lifted their hands, kissed Costia's knuckles. Her girlfriend watched her with wide, doe eyes. So did several of their classmates. She hardened her gaze to glare at each until he or she looked away.

More whispers, though, circulated behind her back in Algebra. She heard her own name amid the scratch of notes and muffled giggles. Whenever Mr. Ben faced the whiteboard, Octavia or Ontari hissed their venom at Costia. Each time Lexa glanced back, though, the two girls gave her startled, fearful looks. "That girl is _nuts_," whispered Octavia as soon as she looked away, "I think she's planning to kill us."

"I bet she's got knives in her locker," muttered Ontari to a classmate. 

Lexa ground her teeth. By the end period bell, Costia looked ready to cry. Still, the Double Oh No's fled from her glare. Costia clung to her. "I'm sorry," Lexa sighed into her hair, "you shouldn't have to deal with that."

"Neither should you," said Costia.

Murphy waited for them outside the classroom. He escorted them up the stairs, shaking his head. "That was rough. Those two and fucking _Pike_ have been making my life hell for years. You want my help, you got it."

Lexa met his eyes, mouthing a silent "Thanks," as they reached the upper landing. Costia let go of her to throw her arms around Murphy.

"Get off me, you dork!" But his tone was full of laughter. He patted her back. "Okay, a'right, you're creepin' me out."

A breath later Costia stepped away, declaring "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"The fuck?" He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You two deserve each other. Go on." He waved them toward the stairwell door, then pounded back down the stairs, calling, "Later, ladies."

In History, though, Ontari, Octavia, and their clones made a repeat of their act in Algebra. "Crazy," they whispered from the rows behind hers, "Psycho Butch," or "Nut case." In mock-fearful murmurs the Queen Bees speculated whether she'd actually caused her father's death. "I bet she spiked his beer," hissed Octavia. "Nah," returned Ontari, "she cut the brake line. I found the report. Cops are looking into it." 

Lexa clenched her fists, winding ever tighter.

When the bell rang Costia dragged her into the restroom. Clarke followed. They passed two girls at the sink and huddled at the back of the room, under gray light from the high, tiny window. Costia whispered "They're gonna try to get you to blow up in Gym."

"I overheard Ontari in homeroom," Clarke added. "I think her whole circle is involved."

Lexa flexed her fingers, glaring into space, "They try anything, they'll find out why that's a bad idea." The girls at the sinks shot her worried glances and hustled out the door.

"No, no, no!" Costia shook her head vehemently. "If you do anything they'll try to get you kicked out of school!"

_Scheisse!_ That had to be the plan. After everything yesterday it might even work. She let out a frustrated growl, having barely enough restraint to avoid screaming at the ceiling.

Her friends exchanged glances, then Costia offered "Cut Gym with us."

"Seriously?" They both nodded. "I'm in."

~*~

They escaped after third period, enduring cold wind and snow flurries on the walk to Clarke's home. 

A pace ahead, Clarke caused a sort of thrumming in Lexa's senses, an electric hum. It popped and sparked, pulsing, perhaps with the beat of Clarke's heart, or the ebb and flow of her concern. Lexa hadn't noticed it before, couldn't decide whether it was new or had simply become too strong to miss. Had she felt this yesterday or before? In History or Gym? In English? All week she'd preoccupied herself with Costia. To hide, maybe. To deny. Lexa buried her face in Costia's hair, and shivered at the song of Clarke's nearness.

Costia kissed Lexa's crown, then her temple. She'd wrapped an arm wrapped around her waist. Lexa matched her with a protective hand on her far shoulder, keeping her close. _Relax,_ she told herself, _the cheerleaders don't matter._ They did, though. _They hurt you._ Her legs almost wanted to turn around and stalk back to Gym, to get in Ontari's face and _really_ scare her. _Bad idea,_ she told herself, _very bad idea._ Today she might honestly explode. Still, the crunch of Ontari's nose under her knuckles might be worth the fallout.

"You're warm," said Costia, then kissed her cheek. Her eyes were knowing. "It's okay. We'll be fine. It's Friday, right?"

Lexa filled her lungs with the autumn air. The sun shone bright, though the clouds promised flurries at any moment. Costia's smile was radiant. Their breath became fog, quickly whipped away. "Right."

Grinning, Costia pecked her lips, a sweet kiss that tasted of raspberries on her tongue. She squeezed Lexa's waist, words rising in her eyes, but instead of voicing them simply rested her head against Lexa's, and sighed.

Clarke groaned, glancing back at them. "Good grief. I can _hear_ you two thinking gay thoughts."

Though Lexa's face heated, Costia only stuck out her tongue. Clarke's presence, though, the thrum of her nearness, felt like purring. Like a great cat. Not a growl, but affection. Protection. _GET AWAY FROM HER!_ Clarke glanced back once more, ice blue eyes watchful, and Lexa studied her own footsteps. Her breath shivered out.

_I'm wound way too tight,_ she knew, and tried to let Costia's butterfly kisses soother her.

Clarke let them in through the back door of The Ark. They dumped layers and backpacks, then visited the kitchen. Liam and Mr. Griffin were busy preparing the lunch buffet. Lexa offered "Hello, Mr. Jake" and "Hi Mr. Liam," then bounced on her toes while Clarke explained to her father exactly why they were there. Costia appeared completely at ease. After Clarke finished, Mr. Griffin smiled warmly at Lexa and said "You'll go back to class after lunch, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." She still couldn't read his eyes, though the rest of his body language was friendly. 

"Good. Enjoy your quiet time. I'll bring up lunch."

"Thanks," Lexa mumbled. Her sneakers weren't so muddy today, but the rip in the left knee of her jeans had grown. She shoved her hands into her pockets. _Two bills...six dollars? Or only two? Not enough for my share._

Costia seized her wrist and pulled her from the kitchen, waving and voicing loud thanks to Mr. Griffin. By the alley door Costia told her "As long as you're here from Clarke's invitation, you're a _guest_, not a patron. You can _offer_ to pay, but Jake will always refuse and you have to let him win 'cause that's the way it works." 

"That's not fair to him."

Costia's eyes sparkled. "Yes it is. You're my friend and Clarke's friend and that means _a lot_. Plus everything you've done for us. Clarke wouldn't bring us here if it was a problem."

From behind them, Clarke spoke up, "Well said, Cos."

They both turned. Lexa hadn't heard her approach. The thrum of her presence hadn't tipped her off, either. Her new 'Clarke sense' didn't seem to include an exact distance or direction. 

They shed their shoes and went upstairs. Clarke stopped in her room. Costia ushered Lexa to the living room and plopped onto the sectional as if she belonged there. Lexa chose her previous spot, beside what she already thought of as 'Clarke's corner'. 

Textbooks lined the bookcase behind Costia. Directly to Lexa's right were two shelves of encyclopedias. Below those were novels in English, Russian, Finnish, Chinese, Japanese, and several other languages she didn't recognize. Most of the novels were thicker than she'd ever had the patience to finish. She'd bet Clarke had read everything in the room, cover to cover. She must seem a half-literate savage to the Griffin family.

Costia scooted to her side. "This is better, right?" Her eyes held a bright shine.

Lexa swallowed, "Definitely better than having to murder the cheerleaders."

"Oh, yeah. 'Cause that would be messy."

"Messy. Right." _Deep breath,_ she told herself, then folded her legs to face her girlfriend. "How long have you two been friends?"

"I say always, Clarke says second grade, but that's only 'cause what she means by 'friend' is what I mean by BFF." Costia pursed her lips and studied her. "Um, can I ask some questions? About weird stuff?"

Lexa drew a deep breath. "Okay."

"Can you see in the dark?"

"Huh? No. Why?"

Clarke glided into the room, sans sweatshirt. 

"Because it's neat," Costia said. "Clarke can see even when it's totally dark like in caves, and I thought maybe you can, too?"

"You can?"

Clarke folded into her corner beside them, responding "Mm-hmm," and drew her hair over one shoulder.

"Well, I can't. Cos, how much did she tell you?"

"A little? Most of it?" She glanced to Clarke, then back to Lexa. "I know there were three yaomo and the Shadow Woman. I guessed about seeing in the dark."

"Yaomo?" _What's 'yaomo'?_

Clarke explained, "_Y__āomó_ is a Mandarin word for an evil spirit, with or without a body. It's as general as 'demon'."

"You know Mandarin? As in Chinese?"

"Some. The other term I use is _Draugr_. It's a Norse word for undead monsters, but I don't actually know if they're undead, so..."

Lexa blinked. _Is Audra undead?_ Ageless, sure. She struggled to remember whether she'd ever dreamed of them under sunlight. Daytime, yes, but sunlight? Did overcast skies count?

"How many languages do you know?" asked Costia.

The question spoke volumes about Clarke's openness with her. Uneasily, Lexa said "I'm not sure, exactly. I think I could get by in most of Europe."

"Super! Some day we're gonna have to go there. Do you see auras or have mixed up senses?"

_Huh?_ "Only with a concussion."

Costia grinned. "What about a soulmate? Do you dream about-"

"Cos, sweetie, let her breathe."

"I know, I know, but Clarke... Enn equals _two_ now!"

"Enn?"

"We're nerds," Clarke said. "The letter N is the variable for sample size in statistics."

Before Lexa could betray her ignorance, Costia resumed, "What else can you do? I know there's dancing. You and Murphy looked great at Homecoming and I noticed you mostly leading until... never mind. Would you teach me so we can dance like that?"

_Oh, Cos..._ The request squeezed her heart. Hanna had learned to waltz with Clara. Vienna's ballrooms were legendary. They'd practiced together in their bedrooms. ~_We are good together.~ _In the privacy of their homes they'd swayed for hours, pretending what they'd thought could never be. _~Marry me instead of him.~_ Impossible, too, because Hanna had been promised to Ernst while they were both children. She told Costia, "I'd like that." 

"Super! What about martial arts? Like..." she made a dog paddling motion with her fists, "pow, pow, pow, go away Ontari. Which is, um, why we're not in Gym. I'm a lover, not a fighter, but Clarke keeps saying I should learn."

"Costia," said Clarke, "please. She needs a breather." The thrum of Clarke's presence seemed to rise and fall with her words, resonating, purring.

Lexa drew her knees to her chest. Strange as it felt, she wanted to sink into that feeling, to wrap herself in it. Focusing on it slowed her heart and eased the tension in her chest. It soothed her, but why was that? Did Clarke feel it too? _Do I thrum for her?_ She squeezed her eyes shut, and rocked herself, just a little.

"I'm sorry," whispered Costia, holding her close so that with every breath Lexa inhaled her scent. "I did warn you, and, um, is it still okay if I wanna know more about you?"

Lexa gulped once, nodding, and whispered "It's been a long week."

Costia squeezed her, pulled her into a hug, sighed across her ear. "For both of us."

Lexa hid her face against her girlfriend's neck, and breathed, just breathed. Her skin smelled of blackberries today, and of sunshine, of Light. _Clara,_ she thought, _My dear friend._ Her heart skipped, with grief, with gratitude, with guilt. _Costia. You're going to die because of me. Again._ Together they swayed. She sniffled, filled her lungs. _Unless I change that._ "Go ahead, Cos. Ask me."

Still, they rocked together on the sectional. "Are you sure?"

She eased away, hands at Costia's shoulders. "I'm sure."

Nodding, Costia watched her eyes. "Kay. Um. So… " She glanced to Clarke, braiding her golden hair, gaze soft on the two of them. "Clarke can do magic. Or 'magic_k_'. With a 'k'. Like, only people she likes can find her bedroom, and she can make potions that get rid of cramps, and her herbs grow super fast. It's _neat_. And, uh, sometimes she can read minds. So I'm... I'm kind wondering if you can, too?"

"Can I do magic?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, and Clarke also nodded.

Occasionally Lexa got flashes of friends' emotions or memories. _And now I can feel when Clarke is close._ Then there was Titus's death. She'd witnessed her father's end through his own senses. Without a doubt, she had _some_ psychic ability. But she hadn't caused his crash, no matter what she'd wished. She'd been asleep. She couldn't have caused it. "No, I can't do magic." 

"Hm." Costia tilted her head, studying her. "Okay, then what about funny allergies? Like I get a rash if I wear jewelry with nickel in it and Clarke reacts to electrum." Costia inspected the sun-cross dangling from her necklace, "Which is weird 'cause gold or silver separately don't bother her at all."

_Electrum?_ "No, uhm..." The low purr of Clarke's proximity didn't feel so soothing anymore. She almost wished it would stop, except for the constant reassurance it offered. She wasn't unique. She wasn't crazy. _I'm not alone._ "No weird allergies." 

"But you heal super quick, don't you? Like anything but broken bones heals in a few days? Clarke's never broken anything but I'm guessing that would take longer, maybe a week or two? Still way faster than for us mere mortals."

The world had begun to go fuzzy at the edges, sort of muffled and too loud at the same time. Chest tight, skin heating, Lexa shivered, remembering that night, only a week ago. The demons had beaten her half to death. Clarke had reset her nose. But by morning she'd healed so well that Costia'd barely noticed.

Clarke's husky voice spoke over Costia's next question, in warning or a plea, Lexa wasn't sure. Her thoughts were too loud. She couldn't look away from the chess set on the coffee table. The game had been reset. Blank slate. That wouldn't change the endgame. Same players, same inevitable ending, but _why_? _What am I? What are we?_ Her vision blurred. In every life but Maya's one, horrific exception, Audra's pack had murdered her Others. For her defiance the demon queen had dismembered a girl she'd loved more than her own life. That death had broken her. _Why do they hate us so much?_

Costia didn't understand. She couldn't understand. _I have to make her understand._ In a tone as sure as the grave, Lexa said, "Cos, I am not a hero."

Her girlfriend cut off mid-sentence. "What?"

"I'm not..." Fingers curling, she pushed on. "I'm nobody's hero."

Costia stroked a hand up and down her shoulder, squeezed her wrist in emphasis. "Lexa, you're _my_ hero."

_No, please. No._ Lexa shrugged off her girlfriend's hands and bounced to her feet. She read concern in Costia's eyes, felt compassion in Clarke's resonance. Neither made a peep as Lexa stalked back and forth along the front windows. After several passes she rounded on them. 

"I am not the good guy in this, Cos. If you stay with me I'll get you killed, and I- I cannot- Not ag-" Her teeth clamped shut on the words, and, gulping hard, Lexa began again. "Don't look at me like I'm some kind of... of superhero, because that's not who I am. I'm _not_. I'm just a supremely messed up girl trying not to fuck up too badly from one day to the next. I don't _deserve_ any of my gifts. I didn't _earn_ any of it."

Costia raised her hand and waited a second. "That's true for everyone to some degree, like intelligence or good eyes."

"Not like this." Lexa met Clarke's gaze, saw understanding in her eyes, and refocused on Costia. "I've never had to _work_ to learn any of the skills you're asking about, not languages, not fighting or dancing or history or music. All it takes is a few tries and I _remember_. I'll bet Clarke's said the same thing."

"You're oversimplifying," Clarke said. "Remembering other lives-"

"I don't care! And if you're going say I worked to learn them in some past life, _save it_, because that's no better than some jackass who inherits a fortune from dead parents after _they_ did all the work. Even if I remember being those people, I am_ NOT _them. They're dead and they're _gone_. This is _my_ life, Clarke. It will be _mine_ right to the second they murder me, and I will spit-"

In realization she shuddered, blinking, and whirled to stare out at the haze of snowflakes. _I said it. _ _I'll be dead soon._ _Even if they never find out about the three that Shadow Eyes killed, they'll still find me. _Only Yahna and Anya had lasted more than a year after first contact. Both had paid dearly. _Four years, tops._ _Probably just months._

Costia thudded against her side, arms encircling her waist and pinning her right arm, round chin on her shoulder. The hug swelled Lexa's heart. It made her eyes water. Her pulse raced at how much she craved it, how badly she wanted to let herself break down and sob in the solace of Clara's arms. 

"Lexa," Costia sighed across her ear, tears in her tone, "I'm not letting go. Kay? I'm not." Her breath hitched. She clutched Lexa's arms, coaxing them to face each other. Lexa burrowed into her, felt hands slide over her back in a hug of reassurance, and wished that Costia could hide her forever. Teary words whispered across her neck. "Lexa, you _are_ my hero. That's not- It's not about- You're good to me. You- you're always good to me."

Lexa nodded, inhaling strawberry hair scents. "Because you-" She thought of Costia, on that first day, stumbling with her coffee, mocha latte and wild hair, a smile like sunshine. The way this girl had come into the restroom when she'd fled their class, the way she'd held her as Lexa fell apart. That she'd followed Lexa after the dance, too, that she cared. And Costia's hugs; her warm, supportive hugs whenever Lexa doubted herself. "You chose me, too."

"Duh," Costia sighed, hands stroking up and down her spine. "Course I did."

Lexa chuckled, though her lungs itched, and pressed her lips to her girlfriend's neck. _This time, you have to live. You have to be free._

Though all of it, she felt the song of Clarke's nearness. When her eyes opened, it was to glacial blue, gazing back. Lexa ran her hands over Costia's flanks. They eased apart, both turning to Clarke. 

Costia ducked her head, blushing. "Um, sorry?"

"Cos, no," said Clarke, gaze flicking to Lexa, "I've said before and I'll say it again..." Their voices rose in unison "Don't ever apologize for being your/my-self."

"I know, I know," Costia agreed, snaking an arm around Lexa's waist. Then in a conspiratorial whisper "Clarke thinks she's psychic. And a dork."

"I think I'm a dork, or I am a dork?" demanded Clarke.

Costia shrugged. "Either way." She faced Lexa, cinnamon eyes bright. "Clarke's psychic brain is telling me you need to talk, so I'm gonna go see Jake and Liam for a while. But I'll come back up for lunch, kay?"

"Okay," Lexa agreed, cheeks heating again as Costia's fingers skated over her cheek, drawing her in for a kiss. "Thank you," she breathed.

"You betcha." Grinning, Costia bounced down the hall.

After the stairwell door thumped shut, Lexa hardened. "How does she know so much? Don't you have some sort of... of Don't Tell Anyone instinct?"

"Costia's been my best friend since we were seven."

"That's not-" Lexa shook her head. "You know what I mean."

Clarke drew a heavy breath. "Yeah, I do." She gazed out the windows, arms crossed under her breasts, right hand clenching her half-finished braid. "For me what matters is trust. My family know everything about me, but the psychologist I've been seeing for eight years still believes I'm completely human."

"I _am_ completely human."

Clarke bobbed her head in tacit acknowledgement. "I can talk to people as far as I trust them. That's all. Cos is the most trustworthy person I've ever met -- and don't you _dare_ take that for granted."

"I don't. I think you've seen that I don't."

Deflating, Clarke stared out at the falling snowflakes. "I've known Cos, like, forever. She's seen my nightmares. She's the reason- She knows everything I've been through, you know?"

"I don't." Lexa had never quite dared to share more than the outlines of her dreams with Luna. She'd told only Lincoln, until he'd left. "But okay, I get it. Cos has seen you wake up terrified. What about others?"

"My therapist knows my mind and fears. She's seen some of my dream sketches. That's all. And she spent years earning my trust just for that much. My family know just about everything because, you know, they're my family. They were there."

_They weren't there for the drifters and Shadow Eyes._ Clarke hadn't told her parents about last Thursday night. Which established that she trusted Lexa as far as this conversation, but not why. Some part of her was masochistic enough to ask, "So are you trusting me because you need me, or because we're the same?"

Clarke's blue eyes snapped to hers. "I'm trusting you because I feel like I _should_."

"But _why_? Why did you follow me that night?" The words blew out faster than Lexa could rein herself in. "Why were you _there_?"

"Because I had to be!" snapped Clarke, fists clenching at her sides. "That's all the answer I have, alright? I heard you scream and I did what I had to do. That's all. Okay? That's all," _and I would again._

Lexa blinked. _And I would again._ Unspoken. Clarke's lips hadn't moved for those words. _I imagined it._ But some deep part of her swore that she hadn't. She studied Clarke's right fist, her whitened knuckles, and exhaled, "But why? I don't understand why."

"Because I remember loving someone so much that I'd die for them. That I died _because_ of them. And I'd-" _do it again. Even after that._ Clarke shook her head and looked away. "Tell me you understand what it is to sacrifice yourself for someone, and love them anyway?" Her eyes were pleading. "Because that's all I can give you now."

A rough breath hissed between Lexa's lips. _Scheisse_. Clarke meant her. Somehow, Clarke meant _her_, she meant Yahna and Kseniya. She meant them, two and a half centuries ago. She meant _You failed me, you let me die, and I loved you still._ Lexa trembled. With grief, with rage, if Clarke had pressed her she couldn't have said. Blonde hair matted by blood, the shaft of a spear, ashes, ashes, and tiny finger bones blackened by fire. A hundred leagues away and she'd still felt every slice, every scream that Audra had inflicted.

Lexa's feet launched her down the hall before Clarke's voice sank in.

"Wait, please!"

Whirling, she bit out "I'm no one's fix-it project, Clarke. We need each other? Fine. I'll tell you what you want, but not today. I don't need your pity or your hand-outs." Lexa turned her back on the other girl's stunned hurt, certain she couldn't handle what would follow, and pounded down the stairwell. Her hands shook as she yanked on her shoes. She opened the lower door and darted to her backpack and sweatshirt.

"Hey, what happened?" Costia asked, emerging from the kitchen with Mr. Griffin. "Lexa? You're crying."

"It's allergies," she said, though with snow blanketing the grass the air was as clean as could be.

Costia touched her chin, slid fingertips up her jawline and behind the base of her skull. "Lexa, tell me."

But she couldn't. Not when she lacked the words. She shook her head. Denying, pleading. "Please, Clar- I love you but I can't be here now."

With widening eyes, Costia let her pull away. Lexa rushed for the back door, somehow _knowing_ that right at that moment, Clarke had slumped against a wall, face in her hands. _It's my fault, always my fault._

~*~

The overcast sky threw down white flurries amid icy gusts. Lexa didn't eat, was so _not_-hungry that her lunch could have been rancid meat for the way it made her stomach churn. Physics with Ontari and Octavia would make everything worse. Instead she wandered the neighborhood, returning to the school in time to stow her pack before Ceramics.

She didn't get there. 

In the stairwell she sank into a corner, rocking in time with the pounding of her heart. She couldn't get enough air. Instead of common cigarette smoke, the air reeked of burned flesh. There was a firepit, she knew. She _knew_. If she dared look, she'd find charred bones in the ashes. A girl's fingers. A girl's toes. A small body covered in flies. And nearby, on a spear planted upright in the dirt, crusted brown in long blonde hair... What they'd done to her...

She heard a voice. _~You win,~ _a rough whisper from her own lips in a foreign tongue. ~_Let it be over.~_

_Cool breath puffed across her ear, ~I accept your surrender. No others will die.~ Rows of needle teeth pierced the side of her neck. Yahna lacked the will to struggle. This pain was nothing to what she already carried in her heart. _Kseniya, I'm so sorry._ Her senses dimmed and she embraced the dark. Death was solace. Her successor would remember. Stay far away, or swear protection._

_The void closed in, gentle as falling asleep in the Siberian winter._

_Yahna faded, ended, and let go. _

Lexa inhaled cigarette-scented air. _I'm alive. I'm alive._ Giggles burbled in her throat, became sobs and broken moans. She couldn't envision more than log cabins and colorful Komi clothes in a vast, snowy wilderness. Not even Kseniya's face, except for that last nightmare glimpse. 

Feverish, shaking, she rocked herself. Motion lessened the sense that the instant she stopped hugging her shins, her whole body would fly apart. Digging her fingernails into her palms wasn't enough to anchor her. She jerked up her sleeve and slipped the knife from her belt loop. Its locking click was a promise. She pressed its silver edge to her pale forearm, felt it bite, drew it downward. Crimson beads welled up. Pain flared white hot in her mind's eye. Her eyelids fluttered, breaths deepening with a second cut. This, she could control. Yahna and Kseniya were long ago. They were far away. This was _here_ and it was _now_. A third stroke and her senses crystallized, adding clarity to the stairwell's blue and gray cinderblock walls. This was real. Even if the cuts faded to pale lines by tomorrow, _this is my flesh, my life, no one else's_.

Lexa breathed evenly, not calm, far from calm, but _herself_ again.

Blood dripped from her elbow, dotting her jeans, and she braced her hand against the wall, letting drops splatter the floor instead, trusting that no one would associate this with her. One-handed, she dug a maxi pad and a roll of gauze from her backpack. Once finished her sleeve concealed the makeshift bandage. 

Though her muscles trembled, she was able to stand. Lexa blotted her eyes on her cuffs and left the stairwell.

The bell rang. Doors opened and students flooded the hallway. Several gave her curious looks, and she raised her hood. If she could just get to the restroom and fix her makeup...

"Hey, _Butch_, we missed you in Physics. Ontari said you weren't in Gym either. I hope nothing _bad_ happened?" 

Lexa gripped her left forearm, squeezing the wound to anchor herself. Octavia's blatantly false concern perfectly matched Titus's "Hey, Alex_,_" when he'd been in a sour mood. He'd always known what to say to make her feel worthless. But Titus had been her father. His approval would have meant something. Octavia was _nothing_. She struggled to think of reasons not to beat the cheerleader's teeth out. _A hallway full of witnesses, for one._ She ought to ignore her the way Clarke did. Clarke had put up with this all her life, somehow. 

"No hiding faces in the halls." Octavia yanked Lexa's hood down and stepped in front of her. A moment later she covered her mouth and laughed, "Oh my God, drowned Emo is your perfect look. Did the loser girl dump you?"

The world seemed to slow. Lexa's unsteady breath rushed in her ears. She wanted to see Octavia in a fallen heap, see tears staining her blue & white cheerleader top. But draw blood and she'd get herself expelled. The queen bees would be free to retaliate against Clarke and Costia. 

_No,_ she decided, _no,_ and every one of her _Others_ echoed the sentiment. _This ends now_. 

Arms dropping to her sides, Lexa glared straight into the taller girl's pretty green eyes. When Octavia nervously retreated, Lexa stepped forward, until the taller girl's back bumped metal and her hands flattened on lockers. 

Octavia's scent sharpened. Sweat beaded at her hairline. She didn't look away, didn't even blink, only whispered "Your eyes..."

Lexa ground out "Leave. Me. _Alone_." 

Whatever magic she possessed happened then, to Octavia, through the bond of their mutual hostility. Lexa sensed a frantic struggle, Octavia's mind against hers, cracking, yielding to her will. She caught an ammonia scent, grinned savagely when the other girl whimpered. This, _this_ was triumph. She took a half step back and glanced down at Octavia's denim-patterned leggings, at the wet shadow spreading from her crotch. 

"No more rumors," Lexa said to Octavia. "No more shit of any kind, O. And if you are _ever_ anything but kind to Clarke or Costia or their friends, we _will_ do this again." 

She didn't wait for an answer, only strode to the restroom with a grim smile. Time to redo her makeup. Behind her, she heard students commenting on Octavia's distinctive odor, followed by startled cries when the cheerleader bolted in the other direction. 


	20. Sheep Dogs and Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this one. Tread lightly when you get to Maya. This also works off some revisions I made to chapter 9 (Strange Circles) regarding Bellamy vs Atom, so revisit that as needed.  
And I hope all of you are okay in this surreal lockdown world. It's crazy out there.

"...funny thing was -- funny weird, not funny ha-ha -- was Octavia actually _apologized_. I'm bouncing off the door and she looks up from her feet and gives me an honest 'I'm sorry,' for the first time in, like, _ever_, but I don't think she'd even recognized me yet, 'cause then she looks around and her eyes get really wide like she's scared, like maybe you're with me. But you weren't because obviously or I wouldn't have to tell you, but now she knows it's _me_ she banged into. So she apologizes _two more times_!"

"Awesome," Lexa agreed, grinning as Costia and she picked chairs on either side of a corner table. Skipping showers after gym had freed them a few minutes early, granting their pick of the Burrito Grande tables. "O's just been avoiding me." She began unwrapping one end of her burrito.

"Yeah, 'cause now she's _scared_ of you." Costia poured salsa over fish tacos. "And I say 'yay me,' it's about time."

"Maybe she just had a change of heart." Lexa bit into her lunch, though a twinge in her gut whispered that she might, maybe, have pushed a bit too hard. From Monday morning on, Octavia had been skittish as a small dog scenting wolves. The other girl hunched her shoulders and spoke at a whisper, even flinching at laughter in the halls. "People can learn."

Costia shook her head, bit into a taco and spoke as she chewed. "Lex, ser'sly, 'is is _huge_!" She gulped, washed it down with soda and went on. "I dunno what you did, but it _worked_. Octavia's been _nice_ to me for almost two whole days! Clarke says she's been nice to her, too, and even to Wells. You- I dunno, you just-" Costia let out a happy squeal, bouncing in her seat before glancing toward the guy at the cashier station. Ten other customers, but this guy's eyes kept gravitating to _them_. In lieu of the kiss she clearly wanted, Costia clasped her free hand. "Just, thank you, kay?"

"Okay." Lexa laced their fingers, adding a subtle caress with her thumb. "But, Cos, all I did was tell her to back off."

"Uh-huh." Costia's eyes sparkled. Her lips quirked in amusement. "If you say so."

"I do." Octavia's fear seemed contagious, too. Ontari and their clones had also kept their distance. Lexa had played up her new role as Amazon Queen, careful to maintain a harsh glint in her eyes whenever she saw the cheerleaders. The fact that Lexa wasn't sure quite what she'd done or how didn't matter. If the other girls thought she could do it again they'd leave her people alone.

Clarke, on the other hand, had withdrawn, effectively resetting their relationship -- whatever it was -- to before the three drifters. Worse, the sense of her presence hadn't faded. Lexa couldn't breathe when Clarke was near. Her guts became lead weights and guilt crushed her lungs like deep water. Costia was a bright soul, and full of hope. She expected that they'd soon make peace. Lexa wished she knew how.

Familiar voices reached Lexa's ears as the bell above the door jingled, trading jabs and jokes. "...freaking hilarious that someone scared the actual piss out of her."

"O deserved it."

Lexa tried to shrink in her seat, bowing her head with a sigh. Raven and Emori had been in the restroom that Octavia had fled into. The story had spread, although Lexa hadn't yet heard her name connected to the event.

"Hah, told'ya that was her car," said Murphy's voice, and Lexa sank further.

"Way to go, Murph," came Raven's dry retort, "Your pattern recognition is at least as good as Paul's dog."

"Yep, I'm dating a genius," quipped Emori, and others laughed.

"Bite me, both of you. Paul, come on, help a bro out."

"Pfft, no. I never get between a woman and her pets."

"Dammit."

"See?" said Raven, "The good ones get it."

"You're my pet. My pet 'Murph'. A special breed of snapping turtle."

Paul coughed, "Murphing-turtle."

"Fuck you all. I'm hungry." The four of them ordered as Costia giggled behind her hand and Lexa shook her head. Then, "Save us some seats, Lex."

"Yeah, okay, Murph-turtle," she returned, snickering, then gave Costia an apologetic shrug.

"Dammit," Murphy grumbled again. The others razzed him some more.

"It's fine," Costia whispered with a squeeze to Lexa's hand, "I've been kind of waiting for this."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I have, really. They're your friends, right? And I know them, too."

Raven put that to the test with a greeting, "Hey Mouse, how's it-"

With a slap to the table Lexa shoved to her feet, getting right in Raven's face. "Her name is Costia. That's what you'll call her unless she asks otherwise."

Tray in hand, Raven froze. Her eyes narrowed. She tilted her head, lips slowly curling in a smirk. "That's fair." And, baffled, Lexa let Raven step around her to plop into the table beside theirs. Paul snagged the seat beside Costia and Lexa resumed her place. Costia beamed at her.

"What?"

Costia's grin brightened.

"Hah, I know that look." Murphy dropped into the chair on Costia's left. "Way to go, Lexa." 

Emori sat to Lexa's right, across from Murphy, asking "What'd Lexa do?"

Face heating, Lexa just shrugged.

"Sexual tension," Raven answered, "but whatever, they'll figure it out. More importantly," she focused on Costia, "you can't hang out with us and be a sheeple. What do you know about the Deep State?"

_Dammit Raven, always with the conspiracies._ But Costia only flashed a happy grin. Her reply left Lexa gaping like a fool.

"You mean the aliens running the government? Or, correction, _hybrid_ aliens, 'cause they look human except when they're hungry or angry. Yup, yup, I know about them. They use blackmail and mind control and _lots_ of money to get important people to do what they want."

"That's just religious BS," Raven scoffed. "You say alien but you mean Archon."

"Nope, I mean aliens. Archons are spirits. These things pretend they're people. You keep talking about aliens so I did some research. I'm convinced. But I don't think there's many of them, 'cause then things would be even more messed up than they are."

Raven leaned in. "Research _where_? What site?"

Costia shrank back. "Um, no, bad idea."

"Come on, Mou- Costia. Was it Apocalypse Watch? Natural News? A forum on The Last Winter? Who did you talk to?"

"Raven, back off," Lexa warned. Glaring, the brunette slouched in her chair.

Costia gave her a grateful look, then replied "A good reporter doesn't reveal her sources."

"You're not a fucking reporter!"

"Raven!" Lexa snapped, shifting to face her fully.

"See! See!" Murphy shot at Raven, "I told you she'd surprise you!" He held up a hand for a high five, but Costia only shook her head as her cheeks turned pink. "You're gonna leave me hanging? Ah, a'right, you're still cool."

"Fine," Raven grumbled, "then let's talk Deep State goals. You know about the White House Prayer Breakfasts?"

"Uh, no?"

"Here it comes," Murphy sighed. Emori leaned in, seeming curious. Paul hummed the X-Files tune. Raven quelled them with a glare.

Lexa just shook her head and sat back, eating her first burrito as Raven described connections across political parties and generations. How this fit with alien agendas or black programs, she'd get to soon enough. Costia nodded in all the right places. Soon, though, a warning tingle on her skin drew Lexa's attention from her friends. She looked up as a lifted, muddy blue truck screeched to a halt beside Costia's smaller 4Runner. 

Atom immediately hopped out from the front passenger seat. A moment later Bellamy Blake cut the engine and stepped out, following. The bell jingled as Atom shoved open the door, both of them storming in. Their eyes quickly locked on Lexa. They split up to close in from either side of the dining area. Raven cut off abruptly as Lexa rose to her feet, right hand above the knife hidden behind her waist band. Lexa wove between the tables to put herself between the two angry guys and Costia. 

Paul hummed the first notes of Taps, maybe, as he stood up beside her. "Hey guys," he said. "What's up?"

Atom glared at Lexa, starting "I _really_ wish you were a guy right now." Bellamy was louder, nearly shouting "What did you do to my sister?!"

"Nothing she didn't deserve."

Bellamy lunged, pushing off tables to get to Lexa. Paul sidestepped as Murphy jumped up to help, both of them getting between him and her. Bellamy lurched to a stop, glaring, apparently not quite willing to battle his friends to get to her.

Costia's hand glided up Lexa's arm, and only then did she realize that she'd already drawn her knife, had snapped out the blade with a flick of her wrist. "Cos," she whispered under her breath.

"Put it away. Please."

Between Paul and Murphy's shoulders, she couldn't really see Bellamy, so with a roll of her neck Lexa shot a cold glare at Atom and pressed the lever to unlock her blade. Atom's gaze dropped to her waist level, widening as she folded it one-handed. She tucked it into a pocket. Their eyes met. _Go ahead,_ she thought at him, _try me. See what happens._

Whatever he saw in her face, the threat leached from Atom's stance.

"Back off, dude," Murphy told Bellamy. "Octavia's had it in for her since day one and you know it. It's about time someone other than Raven stood up to her."

Grinning, Raven pumped her fist. 

The store manager approached, asking "Is there a problem?"

Bellamy's broad shoulders slumped. "Nah, man, no prob." He stepped away, snagged a chair, and sat at the end of the table between Emori and Murphy. Atom dragged a chair to sit at the other end between Paul and Raven. Both of them glared at Lexa. 

"You may go now, good sir." Emori told the manager. Murphy and Lexa resumed their seats. The red-shirted man hesitantly retreated.

"What'd you say to Octavia?" demanded Bellamy.

"I told her leave me alone," Lexa said, "and Costia and Clarke, too."

"No way," said Atom, "there's gotta be more to it than that. I mean Octavia's been flipping out since Friday and today, _finally_, she tells me is it's _your_ fault."

"There's always a bigger wolf," Raven snapped at him, "and looks like Lexa's it. O finally chose the wrong person to pick on."

Bellamy snarled, "If you hurt my sister again-"

"You'll do _what_?" Lexa challenged him. They had to be in view of at least two camera globes. "The only thing I've done is not put up with Octavia's shit. She and Ontari and now your buddy _Pike_ have been _horrible_ to Costia and Clarke and even Murphy." Both gave her pleased looks, Costia proud, Murphy surprised. "And if they don't back off, you better believe that I will _make them_ back off!"

Bellamy looked her up and down, "Sure, you're just a little-"

"Bell," Raven challenged him, "I'd listen to her if I were you."

"What? Why?"

_Because I'll gut you before I let you hurt my people._ But she shouldn't say that.

Murphy answered for her, "Because trust me, you don't wanna back this girl into a corner."

"Amen," said Paul. "That wouldn't end well."

Lexa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Bellamy," she addressed him, "and Atom." Then a slow breath for calm. Bellamy felt dominant; she focused on him; "All I care about is that Octavia stops bullying everyone. As long as she's good I'll leave her alone. If she tries to make amends and is nice to Costia and Clarke I'll even look out for her. I give you my word. Okay?"

They all stared as if she'd sprouted green Martian antennae from her forehead.

Raven recovered first, grunting "Huh."

"Are you serious?" Bellamy asked, over Atom's "Oh, thank god."

"Completely serious," said Lexa. "Ally, enemy, or run and hide. Her choice." _Your choice, too._

Bellamy studied her warily, as if finally beginning to really see her. As if realizing that he'd badly underestimated her. The worst of it, she guessed, was that he wouldn't see any fear in her eyes. Tall and muscular as her was, light as she was by comparison, that would be new to him. 

"Do we have an understanding, Bellamy?" She didn't need to stand up to make her point. 

"Yeah," he grunted, then seemed surprised at his own agreement. "No more scaring my sister. Right?"

"A friend to mine is my friend," Lexa vowed. 

Bellamy nodded once, slowly. "All right... I'll talk to her."

"Now, about your friend, _Pike_..." Lexa practically spat the name.

"Pike's got- He has bigger problems to worry about," Atom put in, sounding nervous. "He broke his arm Monday night. Horse threw him, he said."

"It's a spiral fracture," Bellamy agreed. "He's pissed, but there it is."

Murphy burst out laughing, "It could have happened to a nicer guy!"

"He'll miss the rest of the season, you little shit!"

"Fine," Lexa said, reclaiming Bellamy's irritation, "as long as that means Pike will keep his distance, fine."

Bellamy blew out a sigh, "He will. He'll leave you alone." Then, with an apologetic look to Costia, "Both of you."

"Freaking fantastic," Raven said. "Now git, both of you. Go order some food. Then come back and prove you're not both completely ignorant about the Deep State."

"Deep...? Whatever." Bellamy shoved to his feet and stalked to the front to order a lunch. Atom shot Raven a grateful look, Lexa a wary one, then followed.

With them out of earshot, Lexa whispered to Raven, "I'm not a wolf. I'm a sheepdog."

Raven chuckled. "Sure, you tell yourself that."

* * *

That afternoon Lincoln transferred another load of stuff. Mostly camping supplies this time, along with a long black suitcase, double locked, the sort for transporting a big rifle. The way he acted. she wasn't supposed to know he had it. Had he taken up hunting, like Titus? She didn't ask. He confirmed that, yes, he did plan to finish moving in before Halloween, and left soon after.

He was avoiding them. Understandable, Lexa told herself. Seeing her had to raise bad memories in addition to whatever he'd experienced overseas. In her heart though, all she wanted was for Lincoln to be her brother again, the person who'd shown her what it really meant to be strong, and to use that strength to protect someone else_._

She went running after he left, returning as her mother dressed for the Longhorn Bar & Grill. Mom peppered her with questions about school, friends, thoughts on Terminus. She was circling some bigger topic, Lexa guessed, attempting to trick some information out of her without directly asking. Lexa answered carefully, phrasing her responses to test whether she'd hear about her daughter dating a girl, or if that FBI Agent had contacted her. No, she decided, Sydney was too casual. This would be something else.

"Mom," she cut in, "go ahead and say what's really on your mind."

Sydney turned to her with wide eyes, huffed, and said "Stay away from Clarke Griffin."

_Clarke. Of course._ "Why?"

Her mother smiled softly, sympathy and pride in her eyes. "You always protect the underdogs, Lexa. It's one of the things I love about you. But you need to learn to ask questions first."

Lexa scowled. "Meaning?"

"Meaning she attracts trouble and I don't want you fighting again. Alexandra, Sweetheart, that girl is _deeply_ disturbed. She has a bunch of mental disorders and- And you were right. She _is_ involved in witchcraft."

"Wh-what?" she laughed. _You actually believe that? When you've never once believed me?_

"You should stay away from her friends, too. They're-" _No, she'd try to protect the girl._ "They'll get you into trouble."

Lexa blinked at the psychic flash. _She heard about Costia._ "They're good people."

"Good intentions don't always mean good ends."

"What? Mom, who did you talk to?"

"I have my sources."

_Right._ "Your sources are full of-"

"But it's okay!" Sydney overrode her in that same 'I'm-being-perfectly-reasonable' tone, "Clarke has a good family. The school is aware of her problems and helps as much as possible. She doesn't need you to get involved and I'm sure it's better if you stay away."

"Mom, you don't have a clue what you're talking about. Kids make up crap about Clarke because they're _jealous_. Costia is the nicest person I've ever met. Wells does all he can to look out-"

"Lexa, why can't you ever take my word that I know what's best for you?" Sydney pressed fingertips to her eyelids. "Why does everything have to be a fight?"

"Because you never listen to me!"

"No, no," Sydney shook her head, breath hitching. "I'm saying this because I _did_ listen to you. Clarke and her friends have been feuding with those cheerleaders since they were all little. Octavia doesn't have a father, either. If anything you should make friends with _her_ instead of fighting. Now, I have to go."

A minute later Mom rushed out the door, driving to work while Lexa fumed. _She wasn't there. She didn't see._ Still, everything she'd seen of Octavia ran a loop in her head. Ontari was the cruel one. Octavia... followed. Maybe. _Then why isn't she protecting others instead of hurting them?_ Her Others, Maya and Anya in particular, offered an answer. _She's in too much pain to see another way._

Nauseated, uneasy at becoming even a little like the monsters she hated most, Lexa went around the house picking up clutter -- Mom's clothes, stray dishes, empty food packaging -- throwing the solid bits _hard_ into the nearest trash bin, until the house looked less like some animal's den. Then she stalked out to the river bank under the evening sky. The first stars sparkled at her back. Thick bushes lined the waterside, but she'd found a path that led between them, to silt and gravel and crusts of ice. In one spot, a fallen tree had lost most of its bark. The smooth wood made a perfect seat. At least if she dried it first. She swiped away a crust of snow, then settled with her back against a rising branch to call Costia. "Distract me," she said, "tell me something about you."

"Kay, well, I'm in my room right now, upstairs, and the lights are out. There's one streetlight that shines in my window. It's kind of annoying but I'm used to it's always been there. I've got a bunch of drawings and dreamcatchers and a sun-cross on the walls, and I'm hugging a teddy-hippo named Fang."

"Fang? You have a stuffed hippo named Fang?"

"Well, 'cause they have those big bottom tusks, right? I was four."

Lexa grinned, relaxing. "What else?"

"My bed's nice and warm. Don't laugh, but I have giraffes on my bed spread."

She laughed anyway, "Africa phase?"

"And 'cause they're awkward, like hippos."

"Sweet. I get it. For me it was raccoons."

"Because they're smart and get into trouble, right?"

"Something like that."

"Lexa, why were you upset?"

She shut her eyes, inhaling the river scent. The night air felt pleasantly cool in her chest. "I had a fight with my mom."

"What about?"

"Clarke. You. And... Octavia." 

"Tell me?"

Lexa told her.

* * *

_Maya laid still until the _Gruppenführer _gave the signal, then rolled to the floor stood, pausing for anything else. He ignored her, dressing in His gray-green officer's uniform and peaked hat. Maya quickly pulled on the threadbare black & white striped pajamas that were her only clothes. Morning chores awaited. _

_Maya never let herself think beyond the present. Not during chores, not while eating what little food she was given, not even at night in the closet. Only in dreams of her mother and brothers did she find any solace. Awake, she'd never known anything but The War. First hiding, then capture and the trains, the gaunt horror of Ravensbrück, and cruel salvation by a grinning devil. Here at the Hennigsdorf camp, with no danger of starvation or exposure, at least she understood the rules._

_She no longer paused at gunfire, or screams, or the hateful laughter that followed. Each was too common to distract her from cleaning floors or bathrooms or blood from His uniforms or sheets. The air raid sirens were less frequent, although no more important, even when the walls shook at the explosions outside. Better a bomb fall on her than He survive and discover she'd left a task unfinished. Thus, she was slow to realize that today was different. Outside the bedroom window Berlin's overcast sky swarmed with dancing fighter planes. Hundreds, thousands of them. She'd never seen so massive a raid._

_Far above, nearly at cloud base, bombers approached in V-formations. Specks dropped from them as pepper from the clouds. Two grains, however, were larger than all the others, and in them she sensed something wondrous. An end greater than her own._

_Fireballs erupted from the city skyline, near and far, followed later by the visceral whump-rumble of each blast. The black seeds plummeted into smoke and fire, and then... _

Light_._

_Instinctively Maya ducked below the window and covered her eyes. Light flooded the bedroom, brighter than a thousand suns, burning her skin and reddening her vision even behind her hands. When it faded, she uncovered her eyes and watched stark shadows shifting on the walls. The bedding began to smolder. Voices of confused fear rose from the camp below, then terrified cries of blindness from guards and prisoners. The ground trembled._

_Hesitantly, needing to know, Maya peeked over the window sill. Two incandescent pillars breached the clouds, as if Heaven's armies had finally descended to cleanse the Earth. Below them, a frothing red-white wave of cinders and debris raced toward her._

_She whispered, "Blessed are You, Lord, my God, King of the Universe, Who has kept me alive, sustained me, and enabled me to reach-"_

_The wave hit. Glass shattered and a wall of air tossed her against the bed frame and back wall. That pain was as nothing to the brief inferno that vaporized her skin and burst her eyes. She screamed as the wall collapsed, inhaled and the fire seared her lungs._

_Fell, and felt her muscles burst into flame._

Lexa woke with her limbs bunched in a tight ball. Icy sweat slicked her skin. Her eyes felt raw. Wet slicked her cheeks. Gasping, throat tight with horror-fear, she held herself motionless. Every inch of her tingled as if seared to charcoal. Move and she'd split open. She'd shatter like nuclear ashes.

_No. I'm alive. I'm alive._

A small sound climbed her throat, a whimper. It became a small cry, then a gasp. Hot moisture trickled over the bridge of her nose. Her eyes burned. A great sob tore from her chest. She wept with relief as reality sank in.

She wasn't a ten year old slave but sixteen and free. Her body had never been violated. _He,_ the _Gruppenführer,_ was dead. _He_ had died in 1947 in that same inferno. Her mother and brother were alive and Titus was gone. That literal Hell on Earth was not her life. 

_I'm sorry,_ she thought to her past self, as echoes of that life poured through her. She'd been Maya. The dream hadn't been a few flashes she could easily repress. Not a hazy nightmare she could mostly forget. In a few hours sleep she'd relived an entire life.

Lexa squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed thickly. Every muscle twitched with memory-thoughts of another self. _Don't scream. Don't fight. He'll think of something worse._

_Go away, Maya. Go away. Go away, go away, goaway, goawaygoaway..._

Her thoughts dissolved into staticy noise, chaotic and incoherent. She couldn't let herself think. If she did, it would be of what He had done to Maya, or of Anya driven half-mad by nightmares and powerless against phantom memories. She let herself weep, mourning that little girl that her soul remembered.

Some time later, a prickle on her skin called her from her tears. It pulled her up with a warning. _You aren't alone. Danger is near._ She smeared her face across the damp of her pillowcase, then listened, blinking until her eyes could focus.

Something outside had disturbed her. Not the distant toots and whistles of yet another coal train, but closer.

Her room was as it should be. The river was barely louder than the sussing wind. Silver-lit treetops and long shadows suggested the waxing half moon had nearly set behind the western bluff. Dawn was hours away. 

Lexa sat up for a better view, wiped her eyes and looked again. The swaying trees across the river were the only obvious motion. The two mares were whinnying while erratically galloping around the meadow. _They're afraid of something._ She couldn't see what, but they stuck close to the barn at the far end of their corral, which meant the cause was in her direction.

Scanning the river view again, she strained to detect any threat in the dark undergrowth. Goose bumps rippled over her skin. _Something_ was out there. She wasn't seeing or hearing it, but a churning tightness in her gut said it was there. It was real. She closed her eyes to lock on the source, turned toward it, opened them facing the wall next to her river-side window. Whatever she'd sensed, it was behind that wall, lurking outside, directly opposite her bed. 

Impulsively, Lexa lurched to her knees, flattened her right cheek against the window, and stared left. She found herself gazing directly into two pitch black pits of vaporous anti-light. Into eyes of solid nothing. It was _her_, the Shadow-Eyed Woman, Eliza Lex, gazing back like the Boogie Man's hellspawn mother.

Lexa startled away, snatching the machete and hatchet from between her night table and bed. Seconds later she was charging through the kitchen and utility room to the back door, then vaulting the porch railing.

Her feet touched snowy grass and she skidded to a halt. Darker footprints marred the pale gray under her bedroom windows. 

A coarse voice spoke, "What are you?"

Lexa whirled to face the speaker. Motionless as death itself, the Shadow-Eyed Woman crouched not ten feet to her left, near the corner of the house. Her fingertips rested in the snow, though Lexa couldn't discern whether she had claws or not. Darkness seemed to cling to the woman-thing like black smoke, emanating from her eyes. Her unthreatening posture meant almost nothing, given how easily she'd slaughtered the three demons. On the other hand, the trailer home walls wouldn't have lasted a second if she'd intended an assassination, so that wasn't her goal. _Yet._

Weapons raised in a bluff she knew she couldn't back up, Lexa challenged "What do you mean, what am I? What are _you_?"

"I'm the monster who kills monsters. Does that include you, Alexandra Woods?"

_She knows my name?_ Her brows shot up in alarm. "No! No, those three demons, whatever they were, the drifters who attacked me, they're the real monsters. They've been hunting-" She stopped herself. Saying more would give away too much.

"Hunting who? You and Clarke Griffin? Why? What are you?"

Her blood chilled to slush. If Shadow Eyes knew Clarke's name, she probably knew where she lived, too. "I'm human! We both are. Don't hurt her. We just want to be left alone, I swear."

Shadow Eyes laughed, a gravelly, bitter sound. "So did I. What do the 'demons' want from you?"

"They want us dead. I don't know why or what they really are, but someday soon they'll come looking for me or the ones you killed or both. If you stay in the area, you can catch one and we can all get some answers. Okay?"

"It's not that simple. What was the energy bolt Clarke threw at me?"

"I don't know and neither does she. It was instinctive. She was protecting me, and obviously she didn't hurt you."

"She disintegrated my favorite leather jacket! Sounds just a little bit hurtful, don't you think?"

Lexa blinked. "Uhm..."

"Forget it. Who are Lethhe and Ninevah?"

_You don't know? But _you_ called _me_ Lethhe!_ "I, I'm not really su-"

Shadow Eyes exploded toward the river in a spray of snow and grass, rocketing away without warning or obvious cause. Twenty feet out she launched from the riverbank, sailing across brush and water, vanishing into the dark of the woods.

Lexa gaped. The river was seventy feet wide. She hadn't heard a splash. 

Floor panels creaked in the utility room. The porch light flicked on, blindingly bright. 

She quickly tossed her weapons under the nearest bush, only then realizing that she wore nothing but a sleep shirt and panties. She crossed her arms, slowly turning when the porch door opened. 

Mom peered down, shivering in her night gown. "Are you okay? I thought I heard voices?"

"I, uhm... I was talking to myself." In the last three days they'd barely spoken. That was the way of things. If Lexa let her mother think she'd won, or lost completely, nothing more would be said. "I had a nightmare and needed some fresh air." 

"Well, at least put a coat on." Mom stepped back to grab one from behind the doorway. "It's freezing out here. And shoes. There could be snakes." 

"If there are snakes in the grass then they're dead from the cold."

Her mother frowned at the snowy lawn.

Lexa marched back to the porch, finally noticing the icy wind and lack of feeling in her toes. She shrugged into an old jacket, then stood beside her mother and pried splinters from the weathered railing. Someone should sand it, or something. A dozen lines of conversation swirled in her head. _I'm gay. Clarke is my friend; she also dreams of monsters. I'm dating Costia. I think I made peace with Octavia. The FBI found me. There's a glowing scar on my chest. I met three actual demons. Others will murder me when they find out. I remember the Holocaust. I just talked to a monster with darkness for eyes._

Mom wrapped an arm across her back. Lexa resisted for a second, then leaned into her, allowing her to give comfort. She picked a thought. Maybe tonight her mother would listen, even if every previous attempt had failed miserably.

"They're real, Mom. I met three of-"

"_No_, Sweetheart, you. did. not!" Sydney's arm constricted. "They're only nightmares and you'll remember that in the morning. Everything is scary at night." 

For a long moment Lexa seriously considered stripping to confront Sydney with the luminous scar over her heart. The moment passed. She could easily imagine her mother either explaining it away or dragging her to a doctor, then mass publicity and a follow-up stint as a government science project. 

Abruptly, Sydney let go and went inside. Lexa scowled, guessing why. The air stirred with another icy gust. Her legs prickled and she shivered, listening and watching. The river's gurgle sounded the same as ever. Nothing moved except what the wind or water stirred. Even her burgeoning sixth sense said Eliza Shadow Eyes had left the area. Were they allies now? Or at least not enemies? _Is Clarke safer if I do or don't tell her?_

Her mother returned with a coffee cup full of thick, clear liquid. "Triple Sleeper Special. Get some rest, Lexa."

With a frustrated sigh she accepted the cup. Deception was easier than arguing. "Thanks. Don't worry about me. I'll be in soon."

Sydney went inside. Lexa tracked her retreating footsteps, merely sipping the schnapps. When the master bed squeaked, she crossed the lawn again and poured the drugged alcohol under a bush, then returned to the porch to watch the night.


	21. Turning Point

Lexa brooded through classes, thoughts dwelling on Eliza Lex, the FBI guy, her weird glowing scar, Costia, and what to tell Clarke. The first two she probably ought to relay, if only to inform Clarke's choices. The scar was innocuous and too personal to share without more incentive. Costia... Costia teased her with casual fingertips gliding over her hands or neck, drew her into restroom stalls with hungry eyes, and called her "my sweet protector." _My heroine_, Lexa knew that she meant, but her girlfriend seemed reluctant to use the 'h' word after her blowup a week and a half ago. 

Tuesday, they went out to dinner. At a steakhouse, where ranch hands and their gals glanced askance at two girls seated alone with clasped hands. _Piss off,_ Lexa thought at them, and dodged all eyes but Costia's. And Costia couldn't seem to tear her gaze from Lexa.

"What?" Lexa asked after the waiter had taken their salad plates.

Costia squeezed her hand. "Are you gonna be okay if I say something you don't want to hear?"

She glanced away, filled her lungs twice for calm, then returned her gaze. "Go ahead."

"Clarke wants to try again," whispered Costia. "I'm gonna stay out of it until you two work things out."

"Why?" Lexa asked, surprised.

"Because I think you both need it."

_And we do._ "Okay."

"Okay you understand or okay you'll give her another chance?"

Lexa bit her lip. Costia's thumb stroked her knuckles, soothing, imploring. Eventually she answered, "Both."

"Super."

~ * ~

Wednesday, toward the end of Comp Apps, Wells crouched beside her workstation and quietly said, "I've got bad news and good news."

She fixed her gaze on her screen. "Will the bad news piss me off worse than being outsmarted by PowerPoint?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, but I thought you'd want to hear it from a friend instead of the Oh No's."

_Merde, diermo, and scheisse! _"What now?"

"There's a rumor going around that, uh, that you and Costia slept together, and..."

"And _what_, Wells?"

"And, um- That's why she looks at you like she does."

"That is exactly _no one's_ business but ours." She glared for emphasis.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am." He saluted. "But...?"

"But the rumor's a _lie_. I'm sure Costia's said as much."

"Awesome. On to the good news." He set a white envelope on her keyboard. "This is for you."

"Alexandra" was penciled on the front in cursive. Not "Lexa". The formality of it -- and the sudden anxious thrum of Clarke's attention -- made her pulse jump. She hesitated to look over her shoulder. She and Clarke had said barely a dozen words to each other, lately. 

Lexa inspected the envelope, imagined Clarke delicately licking the flap to seal it. _For my eyes only._ "Do you know what it says?" 

"Some, because she asked me and Cos for advice, but that was about five drafts ago, so bleep if I know."

_Five drafts?_ "You're sure it's good?" 

Wells laughed, dark eyes twinkling, "Emphatically 'yes'. Clarke doesn't do nastygrams. But beware of deep thoughts."

She carefully pried up the flap. Inside was a hand-written letter in neat cursive.

> _Lexa,_
> 
> _You did warn me. The first time, you told me 'I'll be fine as long as it's just us.' Then Madi barged in, and, well, you were right. Second time, I'm pretty sure Costia or I said something that hit a nerve, or…_
> 
> _I'm sorry. That's what matters. I'm sorry. This is different for you than it is for me. I've grown up with people I trust. Seems like you haven't. So, to be clear: Nothing I've said to you has been intended as condescending or pitying. You helped me. You helped both of us, even when you thought I wouldn't return the favor. Because of you, I feel safer at school than I have in years, especially in Phys. Ed. Thank you for all of that._
> 
> _You also referenced the night you came to my window, and expressed a 'gut feeling' that I was there. I deflected then, but yes, I feel it, too. I always know when you're near. Your presence feels familiar in a way that suggests we were close in other lives. I'm not sure what this means for us now, except that we can help each other now, if we choose to. _
> 
> _I ask for your friendship, Lexa, not as a reward or for information, but simply because I like you. _
> 
> _Your Friend, _
> 
> _ Clarke Ann Griffin_
> 
> _P.S. -- You don't have to say yes. I'll tell you anything you need even if you don't want my friendship. (But I hope you say yes)_

Lexa reread it twice, studying Clarke's word choices and taking in layers of meaning. Clarke felt the same familiarity; she thought they had a history in other lives. They could help each other. The postscript sank in last; there was no ultimatum here, only a heartfelt offer. It all felt completely sincere. Her first reaction was more guilt because she didn't deserve any of it, but Clarke sounded sure. She refolded the letter and carefully returned it to the envelope, then folded that in half and tucked it into her jeans back pocket. She'd maim someone if it got stolen from her backpack or locker.

That done, she twisted in her seat to find Clarke's pale eyes apprehensively studying her. _She really has no idea what I'm going to say._ Quietly, she swore, "I won't let you down."

Slowly, tentatively, Clarke smiled.

~ * ~

They walked to Clarke's home after school. If Mr. Griffin was upset to see Lexa again, he hid it perfectly. The man acted as warm and cheerful as before, insisting that she was welcome and asking if she'd like to stay another few hours for their family dinner. Lexa declined. Clarke led her upstairs. Mr. Griffin soon followed with salad and a stir fry of vegetables and beef. He set everything on the kitchen table and returned to the restaurant, all in silence. 

"Thanks for coming over," said Clarke as she dished two plates. We can meet at your house next time."

"We'll see." Lexa had picked a seat with the sink at her back, Clarke to her left, less jumpy with the entire room in view. While eating she gazed across the table at the forest balcony mural. The scene still felt familiar in a way that made her pulse spike. Something related to her panic attack vision before clashing with Octavia. Best not to think about it.

"That one began as a cliff-side view," Clarke said. "I haven't been able to pin down the location, but my best guess is the Siberian Plateau, or maybe the Urals. I added the balcony last year to make it seem more surreal and less a specific place."

"Hmm. I'll bet the forest got chopped up for farms and no one would recognize it now, anyway. That's mostly what happened in Europe." 

Briefly, Clarke looked scandalized by the idea, then she smiled to herself and resumed eating. 

"What's so funny?"

"We've got the same perspective on time and history."

"Oh." She looked away, feeling like one circus freak meeting another. 

"Whoops, what'd I say now? If you don't tell me, I might say it again."

She bit back a sharp retort, explaining, "All my life I've felt like... like the opposite of a clown. Ordinary on the surface when really, that's a mask and underneath is just... bad weird stuff."

"Hmm. Does it help that I feel the same way?"

"I don't know." She focused on the mural again, the beauty of the painting rather than what it made her feel. "I guess so." 

"It helps me," Clarke said. "Acceptance isn't the same as understanding."

Lexa swallowed nervously. _Enough stalling._ "There's some stuff you need to know."

"Yeah, I'm sure there is, but not yet. After we're done eating I'd like to propose some guidelines to protect our friendship from... well, from everything else."

They finished the meal and Clarke cleaned up, this time allowing Lexa to help. They moved to the living room. Clarke set the stereo to soft classical music before settling in her corner, where she fidgeted with her hair. 

Lexa massaged her temples. "When does your sister get home?"

"Should be a while. I asked my dad to keep her busy after chess club. They're at the bookstore on Idaho." Clarke's eyes flicked up. "I meant everything I wrote, Lexa." 

"I believe you." She brought her knees to her chest. "Does it- When I'm nearby, does it feel like a thrumming in your head? Kind of like power lines vibrating in the wind?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but I suppose so. For me, your presence is color and sound and texture in my mind, all more intense when you're close."

"My brain is a noisy place," Lexa half-joked, telling herself, _She feels it, too._ "You mentioned guidelines?"

Clarke nodded, pale fingers carding through her hair. "We need to know how to avoid hurting each other. We also need to stay alive. Guideline number one is an agreement that our survival comes first, then our friendship, and everything else comes after."

_Survival, friendship, then other stuff._ "What does that mean for you?"

"It means that I need a friend who understands me a hell of a lot more than I need information. I don't want to alienate you again."

"Same here. So, yes, fine with me." The guilt returned in a nauseating wave. "About last time..."

"It's alright, Lexa. I don't blame you. You were stressed. You _said_ you were stressed. Costia and I both should have know better."

She didn't know what to say. She couldn't be upset at Costia for being herself and Clarke hadn't been the one to blown up. "Okay..."

"Okay," Clarke sighed. "So..."

"Yeah," Lexa agreed, warily.

"In my nightmares- I've seen, and experienced..." Clarke hugged herself, eyes downcast. "Some dreams I haven't been able to tell anyone, not even my parents." She shuddered. "Some I can't even think about. I bet that's true for you, too."

Lexa unfolded to snag a black knight from the chess set on the coffee table. The marble felt pleasantly cool in her hand. _Like Maya's life._ Cautiously, "Yes, it is."

"All right, then the next guideline is that we don't push for an answer unless it's to protect each other or someone we love. 'Not today' or 'Wait a month' have to be valid responses. We should both accept those without complaining."

A little of her tension drained out. "I agree."

"Third, we keep each other's secrets unless we agree otherwise, in advance."

She rubbed her thumb along the little horse head. When things got tight, knights didn't get to see where they were jumping, and they always jumped crooked. "Does that include your family?"

"Yeah. Everyone. I need to know that you won't share anything I tell you without my permission, and I'm sure that you feel the same. But, uh, I hope passing on general need-to-know information is okay?"

_Like the FBI guy and Eliza Lex._ "We can go case by case with what's need-to-know, but I like the idea."

Clarke breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all. Is there anything you'd like to add?"

Lexa debated for a minute, attempting to look at this through the lens of past lives, then comics and movies, too. _What would Costia say? No, what would Raven say?_ That, at least, provoked an idea. "Just one, because it can cut out a lot of idiotic drama, but it'll make all the other guidelines more important." 

"Go ahead."

_Deep breath._ "We never lie to each other. Absolutely never. Not about anything, no matter how big or small. If one of us asks a question point blank, we tell the truth or say nothing. But that also means we'll have to let each other keep secrets unless it's about safety, and to hell with whatever moronic rumors people spread about us."

Clarke tilted her head, blue eyes carefully neutral. "People lie as a social buffer and to protect themselves. This would take that away for us."

"True, but I'm an expert at knowing when people are lying, and I'd rather have you keep secrets than lie to my face or even wonder if you might be."

Another long pause. Lexa faced forward, muscles twitching with the certainty that Clarke was studying her on some deeper level, maybe studying those 'colors, sounds, and textures' through their connection, deciding whether she was capable of such honesty. 

"Done. Secrets are allowed, lies are not."

"Great," Lexa said shakily, hoping she could live up to her own guideline. She replaced the chess piece on the board. Time for another crooked leap. "The FBI found me."

Clarke let out a nervous laugh.

She related the meeting with Agent Kane, his composites of the three drifters and the two women, Alycia Clark and Eliza Lex, then handed Clarke his card. It was a little the worse for wear after nearly two weeks in her pockets. She'd been afraid of losing it or having her mother discover it.

No one had contacted Clarke. She agreed that giving information to any government agency was a risky proposition.

Lexa placed Kane's card with Clarke's letter and returned the envelope to her back pocket. "So... Sunday night Eliza Shadow Eyes came to my house, I guess looking for the same answers we are." She summarized what had happened, leaving out 'Ninevah' and 'Lethhe'. Those names felt important and somehow very personal. She'd rather identify them first.

Clarke wasn't sure what to make of the encounter.

They debated why the FBI would be interested in Eliza, picking at Agent Kane's story of dead cops, then speculating about other possibilities, from government plans for supersoldiers to demon-run conspiracies hunting Eliza for hunting them. Getting caught in the crossfire seemed foolish, although there wasn't much they could do if that happened.

"Have you seen anything like Shadow Eyes in your dreams?" asked Lexa.

"Maybe," said Clarke, fingers weaving in her hair, "although nothing clear. You?"

"No. I don't know what she is, except, obviously, _lethal_."

"Would you mind if I discuss all of this with Wells and Costia? They should know what to watch for."

Lexa shrugged, "Long as I don't have to say anything until I'm ready, feel free."

"That won't be a problem." Clarke stroked her hair. "May I ask about Murphy?"

"He's okay. Not _nice,_ exactly, but I think he knows that I'll make him regret it if he does anything that hurts you or Costia."

"That's good to hear. I think." 

Lexa nodded absently, mind racing ahead. _Ask or don't? I need to know._ "Do you have any idea why the demons want us dead?"

Clarke shifted uneasily. "All I can do is speculate."

"Your speculations can't be any worse than my wild guesses."

"Fine. They see us as a threat. Maybe they're afraid we'll learn some inconvenient truth to use against them. Since we remember past lives, once we figure it out, nothing they can do to us will hide it. We could share their secret or use it as leverage. They kill us to make sure we can't."

"I suppose that fits. But, what's the big secret? And why the mind games and cross-life terrorism?"

"I'm as clueless as you. Maybe we already know and we've forgotten or just haven't made the connection. The mind games..." Clarke looked away, eyes tightly shut. "It _is_ terrorism." She shook her head, "And torture. The things they've done-"

"Hey," She reached out to squeeze Clarke's wrist, and at the first contact of their skin, impressions flashed through her. First laughter, happy sighs, and the slick of skin gliding over hers. The laughter became shouting, became her own screams; searing hot metal clamped around her neck. Too many rough hands mashed her face to the earth. Then fire, the raw agony as her toes burned and heat climbed her legs, as cinders in her hair caught flame. Lexa flinched away, then clasped Clarke's hand firmly, deciding _No, whatever that was, NO, never again._

Clarke jolted and her blue eyes fixed on Lexa's green. As if she'd heard.

"Second guideline, right?" Lexa responded. "No pushing."

With a clench of her hand, Clarke agreed, "Right. Thanks."

"You're welcome, Clarke." Her new friend blinked, once, slowly, gaze flicking lower, then back to Lexa's eyes. Lexa swallowed once, skin flashing unaccountably hot. She pushed on, "How- How long do you think we've got until they realize we're here?"

Clarke inhaled, visibly steadying herself. "I would have said years, but now... I don't know. Meeting you and the drifters changed everything, then this Eliza Lex business, add in the FBI and stir for a _complete_ mess. So I'll guess... several months?" 

"Oh thank the Goddess!" she sighed. "That's what I hoped you'd say. So assume we need a plan by Thanksgiving. You work your angle, I'll try mine, and we'll compare notes. Meanwhile, we play normal. How's that sound?"

For a long moment Clarke searched her face. "Okay. That's a good start. Thank you, Lexa." Then her eyes lost focus. 

"What is it?"

Clarke shook her head in frustration. "Madi and my dad are back. The dinner invitation stands, if you'd like. Or I can lock the door and tell Madi to wait." 

Lexa blinked. "I think we covered what we needed to." Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs, then a faint squeak and the louder thump of the stairwell door. "Better make the big dinner a rain check, because Costia's got dibs. I owe her for, you know, keeping me halfway sane." 

"She'd like that." 

As she spoke, Madi ran into the room and skidded to a halt, eyes narrowing. Clarke clasped Lexa's fingers, though her gaze remained fixed on her little sister. The touch spoke of protection, of absolution, and Lexa drank it in. This time she'd do things right.

The sisters exchanged rapid-fire Norse. Madi sounded confrontational versus Clarke's calm rationality. They ended with glances at the chess set. Clarke's grip didn't weaken_._

Switching to English, Madi coolly declared "I'll be watching you, missy."

Lexa met the girl's blue eyes, "That's fair." Clarke's hand gently squeezed in gratitude, then withdrew.

Madi softened. "Do you play chess?"

Lexa grinned, "Can I be smoke?"


	22. Frost Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was short and I got three wonderful comments. Thank you! Here's your reward.

Costia turned as Lexa sat down in homeroom, "I'm gonna ask you to come to dinner at my house. You're gonna say 'yes', right?"

_Smooth, Cos._ Smiling, Lexa nodded, though her knees began to bounce.

"Lexa?" Costia scooted closer, one hand skating up her arm, to hwr shoulder and into Lexa's hair, gently scratching at her scalp. Her lids drifed low in pleasure as Costia said "Please come to dinner at my house."

"Okay," she sighed, relaxing further into the caress. "When?"

"How 'bout Saturday? I've got band stuff tonight and tomorrow. Plus weekends take the pressure off."

"Sure." Lincoln had asked her to help him finish moving. Finally. If they packed the last of his stuff Friday evening they could move it all in the morning. "Saturday sounds nice." 

Costia immediately darted in to kiss her. "Super."

Lexa grinned, cheeks heating. Their classmates hand gotten used to them, somewhat, at least enough to get the message that Lexa wouldn't let them be a side show. Mrs Bryant pretended to ignore them, though Lexa had glimpsed an occasional sly smile that she'd interpret as _Aww._ Mrs Carlin had given them similarly indulgent looks. Had she seen the two teachers together at the Homecoming Dance? Maybe. But they were _teachers_. Her priorities had been elsewhere.

A warm fingertip stroked the shell of her ear, breath puffing against it, "What are you thinking?"

Lexa shivered as heat flared low in her belly. She swallowed hard, struggling to make words. "You."

"Me? Go, me."

"You're a dork."

"Yep," Costia sighed into her ear. "Indubitably."

Laughing, Lexa caught Costia's hand and wove their fingers. "Can, uhm, can dinner be low key?"

"Absolutely." Costia's tone was reassuring. "No pressure. Zoe's already spending the night with a friend." Her eyes brightened, "Ooh, ooh! What about a sleepover? Do you have a sleeping bag? We could do a girl's night. Clarke too, if... if that's okay?" 

Lexa almost reflexively turned her down before remembering that as Clarke's best friend Costia knew about nightmares. "No questions about, you know..." she scanned the other students for eavesdroppers, "stuff?"

Costia nodded vigorously. "Clarke said I'm not supposed to ask anyways. Same rules I use with her only more so which should have been all _duh_, but you said I could and I got too curious to know better. If it happens again just tell me 'Cos, back off!', kay?"

"If you're sure...?"

"Yep." Costia dropped to a whisper, "Can I just ask one thing though?"

"You can ask," Lexa said, glad to be whispering.

"Who was Clare?"

Lexa gulped, shivered, and looked away. "She-" _She was you._ "Ask me another day."

"Oh. That's a big one, isn't it."

"Yeah." 

"Then it's okay." Costia pecked a kiss to her cheekbone. "I'll wait until I think you're ready."

Flushing, Lexa squeezed her hand. Clara had always seemed to know when to push, when to back off. _I love you, too, Costia._

* * *

Lincoln arrived early Saturday with a mattress and box spring tied to the roof of his Jeep Cherokee. They'd packed the last few boxes yesterday. Today should be easy. Lexa ate breakfast and got dressed, then went out to help. 

Under an overcast sky, they fought the wind to get his bedding inside. Lincoln's goal was to get everything out ahead of tonight's storm front. Lexa rode back to his place. His dresser was still half-full of clothes. She didn't complain, deciding instead to see if he commented on her strength as they wrestled it outside and into the Jeep. He said nothing, but had to have noticed. His lone bookshelf was merely awkward, not heavy in comparison. They strapped it to the roof rack and he drove slowly. 

Sydney was making his bed when they walked in, and while they unloaded she gushed about having her not-so-little boy at home again. Lincoln quietly humored her, even joking a little. They went back one last time for odds & ends and to do a cursory cleaning before passing the keys to his landlord.

On the return trip Lincoln stared fixedly at the road, seeming only distantly aware of anything else. His sudden quiet wasn't unusual for this war-vet version of her brother, but she began to suspect there was more to it.

"You okay?" 

He didn't answer or even look at her as they crossed the bridge. They passed the driveway without slowing.

"Linc?"

"You'll see."

They continued into the hills along Ten Mile Road. About a mile in, well short of the left-hand turnoff to the Terminus overlook, he veered right. They drove through an open gate and onto a rutted dirt road along a dry creek bed. The slopes soon eclipsed the main road. 

"Lincoln, where are we going?"

"Here."

He stopped the Jeep in the middle of the road. The hills rose steeply on all sides, covered by nothing taller than sage brush and dead, matted grass. She put the main road at half a mile back, home no more than two miles away, and yet they were entirely isolated. She got out. With the engine off, the only sound was the wind whistling down the valley. She zipped her sweatshirt and raised the hood, watching her brother.

Lincoln opened the back hatch and reached into a charcoal gray backpack for an oblong object wrapped in layered grocery bags. Prize in hand, he returned to her and leaned against the Jeep.

"What's that? Why are we out here?" 

"Because it's out of sight and we're alone."

"Yes, I noticed." If he were anyone else she'd kick him in the balls, jab his throat, and run, but this was _Lincoln_. 

"You know I left to get away from Dad, right? Leaving wasn't about you. Not that part, anyway."

She scoffed, blood heating. He'd left her with _Titus_. He'd had to have guessed how badly that would turn out. "Then what part _was_ about me?"

Lincoln gazed down at the bagged object, at the spiderweb of pale scars that marked his left hand and forearm. "I made friends in the Corps, Lexa, good friends. I watched some of them die. Others gut hurt so bad they'll never be the same. I've... I've killed men." He hesitated, shook himself. "There's nothing- You think it's a cliché, but it's... There's nothing like seeing the light fade from someone's eyes. Once..." But he only squeezed his eyes shut.

Hesitantly, she reached out, gripped his shoulder. Her heart ached for all he'd suffered. Her past selves understood war, and death, and killing, and the bleak triumph that came from surviving when allies hadn't. 

At her touch he swallowed, left hand flexing, then shook himself from the memory. He resumed, "We had a lot of down time between actions. Weeks, sometimes. They kept us busy on duty, but off hours it got hard not to think. Most of us did all right, talking to each other, to family back home, or to God or whatever. Everybody who didn't crack had something solid to lean on." He met her eyes, "I had you."

She felt her eyebrows rise. "_Me_?" 

"Yeah. Whenever I got to thinking, I'd remember you talking about the monsters in your nightmares and I'd get this feeling, this _certainty_. I was where I needed to be. Felt like I'd chosen this hell because you'd need what I was learning more than you needed me home. Lot of times I wondered if I was cracking up, but... that feeling never went away. It kept me going. Then I got my discharge, and it just got stronger. Last few months... shit, Lex, I _really_ thought I'd lost it, because clearly I was deluding myself. Titus is gone. You don't need me to protect you anymore, least of all from bad dreams. But I wasn't wrong."

Her scalp prickled. _He knows. Somehow, he knows._ "Linc, what happened?"

Lincoln offered the wrapped item. 

She cautiously removed the bags, which he pocketed one by one. The object was his saw-back knife and leather sheath. 

"Take it out."

She unsheathed the knife and nearly dropped it in shock. Starting an inch down the seven-inch blade, shiny metal gave way to pitted rust caked with a black powdery substance. The high-carbon steel had corroded to a fraction of its original thickness. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"You have some strange friends, Lexa. The one with darkness for eyes stopped by last Thursday night. I've been thinking about what she said all week."

"Said...?" Lexa blinked slowly. _Shadow Eyes went to Lincoln? Why?_

"She followed me into the trailer after I went running. Just walked right in behind me. Scared the-" He shook his head, hands twitching, then focused on her again. "I tried to fight her. She stopped me." He rolled up his right shirt sleeve, revealing a gauze bandage. He peeled the medical tape to reveal some sort of burn, dark and blistered in stripes. The shape of it reminded her of a hand print. "It's frostbite," Lincoln told her. "Her hand was _cold_."

_Like when Shadow Eyes killed the drifters._

"She took my knife and stabbed herself." He gestured as if plunging a blade into his heart. "Right there in front of me. Said she wanted to make certain I believed her. Blade came out covered with this rancid-smelling stuff, and that's how it looked by morning." He shook his head. "Damnedest thing was, she didn't even flinch, not even a little."

"What, uhm, what did she say?" Her voice quavered. 

"Started with questions about you."

The memory of that gravelly voice rattled in her brain. _What are you?_ She had to remind herself to breathe. "A-and?"

"Lexa, I've seen some crazy shit overseas, but never, ever anything like _her_. Seemed smart to tell the truth, which is that you have nightmares of monsters and abilities I can't explain."

"Okay..." She sagged against the door. "Okay, I can handle that. What else?"

"She said you're in trouble. Deep trouble, and Clarke Griffin, too."

"No kidding." Her hand still held the knife. It quivered as her muscles trembled. She sheathed it and -- careful as a bomb -- set it on the hood. 

"Her name is Eliza Lex. She said you were attacked and she saved you, that Clarke was there, and, I quote, 'There are more of the demons.' At least a few dozen in the U.S. She was following those three to learn about them, and you got lucky."

"The demons..." Lexa swallowed thickly. "What else did she say about them?"

He took a deep breath, blew it out. "They're the trouble. She didn't think the three you met were here for you, but they travel in packs and most are a lot tougher. You're better off not involving anyone you don't totally trust. She said- I wouldn't believe it, but, there's you, and my knife..." He shivered, sighed, and resumed. "She's seen them cause blackouts and 'control people like puppets' without them even realizing. Whatever they are, she thinks they're hunting for specific people. People like you and Clarke."

_Packs. Control people. Hunting us. _Everything she'd dreamed. All she'd feared. _Most are tougher._ The trio she'd met, who'd nearly murdered her for sport, had been relatively weak.

"She... Eliza said to ask about a mark on your chest."

"How could she know about that?!" _Shadow Eyes was on the other side of the wall! Even when I went out, I had my shirt on!_

"I don't know. She said you're both part human and part something else, and the 'something else' is getting stronger."

"It is _not_ getting stronger!" 

Lincoln's eyes flashed. "You're still my sister!"

She spun away, fists so tight her knuckles ached. _You left me. You weren't there._ Then, _I'm not human. _

"She also left a card," he said to her back, "and an offer. If you can give her a few days warning she'll try to help, but no promises." 

_At least she's on my side._ Lexa counted as she inhaled and exhaled to regain control, then faced her brother. Her eyes locked on a red business card in his hand. She accepted it. The front advertised a flower shop in Spokane, Washington. On the white backside, in uneven print, she read _FallenJustice@email.com_.

"So. If there's anything you want to tell me...? I can pretty much guarantee I'll believe it."

She let out a sigh that was almost a sob, then a grunt of denial.

"I will, Lexa. But you have to talk to me."

"NO! Dammit Lincoln, you can't just _meet a monster_ and _make a speech_ and expect me to open up. I don't care how you justify it, you weren't there! You _promised_ you wouldn't let Dad hurt me, and then you _left_. Five years! You never called or wrote. If I hadn't been the freak that I am I would have thought you were _dead_. Except I _knew_, Linc. I _knew_ you were alive, and that made it _worse_ because that meant you'd just walked away and left me with HIM!"

"How?!" he demanded. "How was I supposed to call or send a letter when, according to Mom, you've moved near a dozen times since? They never left contact info. I had no way to find you until Mom talked to the Marines after..."

"...after Titus," Lexa finished, deflated and finally, truly hating the man. Hating Mom, too, for never helping Lincoln find them while Titus ruled her life.

"Lexa, I swear that I am here for you now."

"No you're _not_!" She hammered a fist on the Jeep's hood. "You think I don't need you? How can I let myself? You're hardly around and even when you're here, you're not _here_. So excuse me but _no_, I don't have to tell you anything!"

Her brother pursed his lips and leaned against the Jeep. "Okay," he sighed, "I guess I deserve that. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"_Words_. Actions are what matter."

"Then how about this..." He retrieved the gray backpack from the Jeep and set it on the hood to unzip it, announcing "This is your bug-out bag. This stuff will keep you alive." 

Inside were weapons, a first aid kit, and survival supplies. Lincoln focused on the weapons. Pepper spray. A folding stiletto. A six-inch hunting knife with a saw-tooth back. A pair of four-inch, serrated, folding combat knives. The item that most surprised her was a 9 millimeter pistol.

"Crap, Linc." She hadn't so much as _touched_ his guns since moving to Terminus, and now he was giving her one?

"This is an M9," he said evenly. "It was my sidearm in the Marines."

He went over usage and tactics for each weapon, then the bag in general. Obviously, Mom couldn't know about any of it.

"You don't think we should tell her?"

Lincoln sat on the front bumper and shook his head, scowling. "Mom believes what she wants to believe. Nothing you or I say ever makes a difference."

"Yeah, had to ask." She raked her hair back. He really ought to know what happened. "About what Eliza told you..." 

She summarized what had happened with the three drifters, Eliza Lex, and Clarke, omitting Clarke's ultraviolet lightning and 'Lethha' and 'Ninevah'. Most of the story was new to him; Eliza had told him barely more than he'd relayed. She went on to meeting Agent Kane, then asked "Did Eliza say anything about the FBI being after her?"

"Nah, didn't come up... but a body count doesn't surprise me."

"Same for Clarke and I."

"The FBI could be a lot of help."

"Sure," she retorted, "except if they believe me I'll end up as a lab rat in some secret underground bunker." Raven had convinced her of that much.

"We don't have to tell them-"

Lexa shook her head in vehement denial. "You can't tell anyone, Lincoln, not _anything_. If anybody else has to know about all this..." she gestured wildly, "_mess_, then _I_ tell them, not you. Got it?"

Solemnly, Lincoln agreed to keep her secrets. "How else can I help?"

"Get me a bazooka." She pointed to the M9, "That pea-shooter won't even slow them down."

He chuckled. "What about a rifle?"

_Like the one in that suitcase of his._ "Maybe something easier to hide?"

"Like a bazooka?" he laughed. "Get comfortable with the pea-shooter and I'll see what I can find."

Bouncing up to sit on the hood, she unholstered the pistol, dropped the magazine in her lap and checked the breach. Both empty. She debated whether to field-strip and clean it, then simply loaded the mag from a box of target rounds. "I have memories from an anti-Soviet guerrilla warrior. I know guns as well as you do. Pick a target and I'll prove it."


	23. With Your Touch, I Fall

One very dead tin can later, Lincoln gave her a ride to the Sinclair house. Sensing Clarke's presence from a block away should have been weird, or scary, or unnerving, but it wasn't. If anything, the sensation quieted her nerves. _Survival, friendship, then everything else._ No prying questions. No need to lie about anything. Eliza Shadow Eyes' visit to her brother wasn't a threat to their survival, so she didn't technically have to bring it up. Not yet. Even if she had nightmares, she wouldn't have to pretend or downplay them. She wasn't alone.

The second the Jeep came to a halt, she was out and grabbing her backpack and sleeping bag while Lincoln snickered at her enthusiasm. She stuck out her tongue at him, daring to believe that he'd meant all he'd said, then jogged through damp flurries to the Sinclair's door. It swung open as she reached for the knob. 

Costia beamed at her. Lexa had only a moment to grin in return, to register the rasp on her skin of Clarke's throaty laughter, before Costia seized the front of her jacket and yanked her in for a kiss. Costia's lips tasted of coconut, her tongue of chocolate. Lexa's eyes fell shut as her hands slid up her girlfriend's warm back, as Costia's arms tightened like vines around her waist, cinching them together. Air was overrated. Needing to breathe was stupid. Her spine hit a solid surface and the world shrank to them, to this. _I missed you,_ echoed within her, as impressions of Clara, of Raisa, flashed at the back of her mind. _I missed this._

A rising pressure in her chest burst her bubble. Not a lack of air, not for her, not yet. This felt like anxiety. "Down girl," she heard, light-hearted laughter in Clarke's words, "she just got here," and the world flooded back in. The ache in her chest felt somber, almost mournful.

"Hah…" Costia sighed, gasping as their foreheads rested together, "I needed that."

"I missed you too," agreed Lexa. But saying so only worsened the pain behind her ribs. _Clarke, what is this?_ Costia nuzzled in; Lexa replied with another kiss, softly this time, reassuring, then they each eased apart. She felt eyes on them as she shed her backpack and jacket, and not only from Clarke. Mr. Sinclair leaned against the kitchen archway. He wore jeans and a flannel shirt, mismatched socks. His expression was kind, if wary. The burnished sun-cross hung above him, glinting as if in all-seeing judgment.

Lexa gulped, face heating, but held his gaze. Costia ducked under her arm and pulled it around her shoulders, wrapped her own around Lexa's waist, and kissed her neck. That steadied her. Together, the two of them regarded Costia's father.

After a moment Ron Sinclair nodded, to them or himself, Lexa wasn't sure. He addressed Lexa, "You keep doing your best to earn those, you don't ever hurt my daughter, and I'll be on your side, too."

"Dad!" Costia scolded, "really?"

Lexa simply nodded, swearing "You have my word." She couldn't help feeling, though, that it was Clarke's approval she most needed.

"I can feel my teeth rotting," grumbled Clarke, then to Mr. Sinclair, "I want salt. How about popcorn?"

"Sure, but this time _you _watch the microwave. Cos says I always burn it."

"That's 'cause you _do_," hissed Costia. Then as her father and Clarke retreated to the kitchen, laughing with Costia's mother, she emphasized to Lexa, "He does. Dad always waits until like twenty seconds after the last pop, and by then half of it's _burned_."

Grinning, tension easing in her chest, Lexa kissed her. "You taste like hot chocolate. I want some."

"Kay," Costia agreed, catching Lexa's hand to pull her into the kitchen. "Then we can get out the board games."

They played Seven Wonders, which Lexa won with a war strategy, then Catalan, where Costia's parents tag-teamed a quadrant while preparing salmon, salad, and steamed vegetables. The dog camped under the table to beg for ear scratches, which Lexa obliged. She and Clarke feuded across the board. Every move she made, Lexa guessed the countermove. Chuckling, then grimacing, Clarke seemed to read her the same way. Their battles let Costia and her mother quietly take over the key resources. Too late, Lexa noticed their glances and shared smiles. When she narrowed her eyes, Costia shrugged and smiled, "All's fair in love and war, right?"

"Right," she conceded. Costia had won. She and Clarke agreed on that much. "Have you got Monopoly or Risk?"

"Nope, sorry," Costia said, "those are at Clarke's house. And then you're gonna lose to Madi, 'cause she _always_ wins at those."

"What?! Why?" Losing three rounds of chess meant _nothing_, dammit.

Clarke answered, "My little sister is a protégé. If she can calculate the best strategy, you lose. It's sick and unfair, but…" she shrugged.

Costia laughed. "Plus I think she cheats."

"If I recall," said Mr. Sinclair, "you both agreed that the magician's kit was an excellent birthday gift."

Clarke and Costia looked to each other, echoing "Mistake!" Then Costia explained, "Madi is way too good at the sleight of hand part. She'll, like, look at the board, then roll _exactly_ the number she needs."

"Sweet," said Lexa, "If she's cheating I'll bet I can catch her at it." Beneath the table, Morwen nuzzled to keep up the affection. She felt for that spot behind the dog's ear and continued scratching.

"She's not," Clarke said with a shake of her head. "Least I don't think. Madi's just that smart. She… She just knows how to hold the dice to roll what she wants, or something." Another shrug, "My little sister is a super-genius."

"We should all use one of those dice tower thingies," said Costia. "That'd make it tougher for her, at least."

"You're sister is a sweetheart and she adores you, Clarke," insisted Mrs. Sinclair. "Both of you."

"Mutual," Clarke agreed, under Costia's "Some day Madi's gonna save the world or invent antigravity, or something."

Lexa snickered. "I can still beat a nine-year-old at Risk _and_ Monopoly." 

All four gave her doubtful looks. Clarke put in "She beat you three for three at chess."

"Lies!"

Clarke told the others "Madi totally did."

The five of them bantered through dinner, drifting from Clarke's genius little sister to other favorite family games -- Pictionary and Charades were apparently favorites on Friday nights -- then to current politics. Mr. Sinclair tried to discuss global news, such as the coming presidential election, rioting in Iran, or ongoing wars in other countries of the Middle East. Mrs. Sinclair ("It's 'Jess', Lexa, call me Jess,") brought up the frenzied partying in Azteca and the end of the Fifth Sun. Clarke seized on that, noting that their scholars couldn't agree whether the Transition would begin on the solstice or the day after. The debate fascinated her. Relieved to be allowed to fade into the background, Lexa slipped table scraps to the dog. When Costia's soft hand found hers, squeezing, she clenched in return. Clarke flashed them a knowing smile, then Jessica Sinclair, then Ron Sinclair, too. Each time, Lexa was able to meet their eyes. She'd do her best to do right for Costia. That'd be enough.

After dinner Costia directed Clarke and Lexa to her bedroom, where they rolled out sleeping bags while she departed to take out her contacts. Costia returned wearing glasses, oval lenses in black frames. She seemed only barely more self-conscious than she was about her braces, and set up a movie on her computer. Morwen followed them around the room, rear end wagging nearly as much as her tail, and eventually sprawled across both bags. Laughing, Clarke shooed her from the room and shut the door.

"We usually sit on my bed to watch." Costia demonstrated by adjusting pillows and stuffed animals to improvise a backrest against the wall. The final step was a fluffy throw blanket, which she raised invitingly for Lexa. Blushing, certain that she wouldn't need the insulation, Lexa joined her. Immediately Costia snuggled against her side and wrapped the blanket across their legs.

Seeming unimpressed at the movie box, Clarke went to her pack for a spiral bound artbook and pencils. 

Costia let out a delighted squeal. "You're gonna draw us?"

Clarke addressed Lexa, "Do you mind...?"

Scattered around the bedroom were framed sketches of the Sinclair family, Costia, Costia & Zoe, and one of Costia & Wells perched on a wooden picnic table. Costia appeared ten-ish in the family portrait and older in the rest, where the style was different. All but the family portrait were Clarke's creations, she guessed. The picnic table sketch perfectly captured the sunlight in Costia's giggle, the mischief in Wells' eyes. Clarke had about a thousand times more artistic ability than Murphy ever would. 

"Okay, just..." _make me look pretty._ "Never mind, go ahead."

"Super," Costia said, and bounced back into place. Her arm snaked around Lexa's waist, distracting her with the berry scent of her hair. Clarke arranged pillows on the floor between the desk and door, then shut off the lights, leaving only the computer screen and street lamps to light the room. Once seated, Clarke propped the art book on her knees. 

_She can see in the dark,_ Lexa remembered. _And see auras? What does she see when she looks at me? Or at us?_ A topic for another time, if she ever found the courage to ask.

"You'll love this," Costia whispered as the title appeared.

The movie was a romantic comedy about a car-crash amnesiac who fell for her doctor who turned out to have once been an unrequited crush. But without her memory, the protagonist had also forgotten her hangups. That the doctor/past crush was a woman surprised Lexa. The fact spoke of acceptance and past discussions between Costia and Clarke. The plot was trite slapstick, Lexa decided, formulaic as for any straight rom-com, but within half an hour she'd lost herself in laughter and the light of Costia's giggles. She forgot Clarke studying them from the shadows.

She remembered when the credits rolled on the women's happily-ever-after, and jumped up to turn on the lights.

Clarke carefully extracted her drawing. "This is for you," she told Lexa.

The sketch was pencil only, focused solely on Costia and herself. Costia was giggling freely, head resting on Lexa's left shoulder, glasses askew. Her raised eyes suggested concern for Lexa more than focus on what was in front of them. Lexa's expression was a mix of smiling amusement and distant, haunted eyes. She'd curled around Costia, arms locked over her girlfriend's waist, cheek brushing her feathery, flyaway hair. Part of Lexa's own wavy mane fell behind and a little around Costia's head, adding to the feeling of protectiveness. 

Maybe she was projecting too much into the drawing, but being seen so clearly gave her chills. She passed the sketch to Costia's eager hands. 

Clarke looked up from putting away her book and pencils, expectantly watching. 

Lexa offered a slow, wavery smile, mumbling "Thank you. You're very talented." As soon as the words left her lips she saw that wasn't the response Clarke had hoped for.

"Ooooh, I love it." Costia faced Lexa, "Can I have a copy for my collection?"

"Sure. And 'collection'?"

While photocopying the drawing on her printer/scanner, Costia explained that the Sinclair family portrait had inspired Clarke, way back in '06. She'd been drawing portraits ever since. Costia and Madi were her most frequent subjects.

Lexa did the math and glanced again at the framed portraits, raising an eyebrow. "You've been drawing these since you were _ten_?"

Clarke only nodded.

"Impressive."

They changed to sleep clothes -- fuzzy jungle parrot pajamas for Costia, frayed black silk for Clarke -- and Lexa wished she had something better than a ratty old sleep shirt. Neither of her friends gave any sign that they cared. Costia's mind was on dessert. She pulled double-chocolate fudge ice cream from the freezer, rock solid, and would Lexa scoop for them? She did, self-conscious at first, filling three bowls as her friends debated what to watch next. Her friends. _Hers._ Her girlfriend and... Clarke. Whatever the electric thrum in her bones meant, Clarke had asked to be her friend. _And you are._ As if the thought had a gravitational pull, their eyes met. Clarke winked. Lexa grinned. Then at Costia's confusion, Lexa kissed her.

They ate in front of a weird post-apocalyptic story, all in a huddle on either side of Costia. In the movie a zombie accidentally saved a living girl. She kept him from biting her, they fled the horde, and along the way they fell in love. Love returned the zombie's humanity. It gave him back free will. Together, with help from a band of survivors they tried to restore others. The two of them changed the world. Trite again, Lexa recognized as the credits rolled, simple and easy. Nothing she'd dreamed of the demons was ever so simple. _If only._

A press of wet lips to her cheekbone drew her from herself. Costia's arms felt loose at her waist, willing to let her go if she tried to bolt. That awareness soothed her even more than Costia's tone, as she asked "Lexa?"

Clarke, too, watched her. Her presence felt a bit different, a particular note in the thrum between them. Understanding, maybe. Her irises glowed faintly. If Costia had noticed, she'd paid no mind.

_Of course. They've been friends for ten years._ Lexa shook off her mood. "I'm okay. I liked it. Just..."

"Monsters and happy endings," Clarke filled in. "We understand."

"We do," Costia agreed, then yawned. "And if we don't, we try."

Lexa yawned in reaction, then kissed her. "I've noticed." Then for Clarke, "I really have noticed."

"What I notice is you're both half-asleep already."

"Good plan." Costia clambered under her covers, eyes seeming to plead with Lexa to understand that she wasn't quite ready to share her bed.

"Sweet dreams, Cos," said Lexa. Then to Clarke's luminous blue eyes, "No nightmares, okay?"

"Same to you. Wake me up if you have to."

"I understand." Lexa nestled into her sleeping bag as Clarke shut off the light. She drifted off to the wail of the wind.

~ * ~

_Firelight sparkled on Adelais' tears, flames licking the night sky above their barn. Even from their porch steps, the heat made the air hard to breathe. She heard no panicked sheep, no pig squeals or horses kicking at the doors. Perhaps the smoke had already killed them. She couldn't see how Kurt and the other men could possibly put it out now. Not with buckets from the pond, not even if the clear sky dropped heavy rain. How it got started on a crisp spring night, roof covered by flames even as the dogs cowered, whimpering, was less a mystery. This fire wasn't the first, nor was it an accident. _

_This was arson. _

_By dawn the barn had collapsed to ashes. Ashes, and corpses. Every animal had died in its pen. Not squalling, not fighting. Simply died. They'd been dead before the first smoke, Kurt agreed. Slaughtered. _

_The dogs hadn't woken them. Hadn't gone racing out to attack an invader, hadn't even barked. The perpetrators very scents must have terrified all three beasts into silence. What but Hell's very agents could cause such a thing?_

_Days later Kurt found a note nailed to their door. Neither of them could identify the script, let alone the language. Adelais understood it nonetheless. _~Go alone to the castle ruins on the night of the full moon, or lose all that you love.~ _It was signed '_Audra_', a name that made Adelais' guts knot up in dread. She told Kurt. He vowed to support her whatever she chose, holding her close as she broke down in terror and relief. For her, this wasn't a choice. The note was only a politeness, a reminder to say her farewells. _

_Kurt knew her too well to argue, instead joining her in the forgetfulness of desperate passions. In exhaustion, they slept. Adelais woke to the full moon's glow upon their shutters. She willed her husband deeper into sleep, wishing him a dream of her safe return. The front door was her casket lid. She shut it softly, hurrying away on heavy feet._

_The old castle had burned in her grandparent's youth, razed by Prussian troops to deny its use by the advancing Swedish. Its ruins were mere miles away, an easy walk in the moonlit forest. She prayed for a martyr's strength. If Kurt or the village fought, they'd die in the effort, for such were her dreams of Diana, who had battled the demons in an earlier life. They'd all be slaughtered if she did not surrender. Better to carry this life into the next, as a memory of peace, than see it all burn for a moment of weakness._

_The forest path opened to a grassy meadow, each blade silvered by moonlight. _ _Broken stone piles were all that remained of an outer bailey. Inside, in deep shadows between fallen towers, she found only deathly stillness. _

_"Hello?" Adelais whispered, peering into the pitch black of the collapsed great hall. _

_Silence. Yet she felt hidden eyes upon her. This was a game to them. _

_She tried again, "Is anyone here?"_

_From behind her, a whisper at her ear, "You are here." _

_Adelais spun, found herself staring at a small, familiar woman in men's hunting leathers, light hair in a braid across one shoulder. _Audra_. Ruddy glints drew her gaze to a short sword at waist level. Audra rammed the blade upward, under Adelais' rib cage, impaling her from navel to heart, an icicle behind her ribs. It hurt like nothing she'd ever felt, agony in every nerve. Her lungs paused, afraid even to sigh. Her heart stuttered and froze. Paralyzed, Adelais could only stare into pale, savage eyes without a spark of humanity. Demon eyes under a human mask._

_Audra wrenched the sword free. Adelais gasped, bonelessly crumpling to the soft grass..._

...and Lexa jerked awake, still staring up at Audra's cold eyes, felt her life jetting out, soaking her dress. She breathed, trembling but alive, forcing herself to focus on the sensations of her living body. Sweaty, overheated. Her sleeping bag clung to her legs. She kicked it off.

_Audra. Always Audra._ The latest life that she remembered, as Anya the guerilla sniper, had died around 1970. Adelais had lived, and died, in the early 1800s. Before her were Yahna and a French girl named Brielle. Each had perished at Audra's hands. At least in dreams, Audra hadn't aged a day since the 1700s. Probably, all the demons were practically immortal.

Lexa shied from that thought and its implications.

As lives went, Adelais' had been one of the most pleasant, right up there with Elise's, on the Norwegian coast. Too short by far -- Adelais couldn't have been more than eighteen when Audra found her -- but she'd been surrounded by people who loved her. Parents, brothers, her sister Marie, and husband Kurt. More importantly, Adelais had _known_ that all of them loved her. She'd trusted in that love, believed in it. 

So did Lexa.

Without those dreams, she'd never have known how all of that felt, or how to begin to recognize such nurturing relationships. Long after their deaths, each of her _Others_ had passed on the truths of their lives. Truths Lexa had simultaneously scorned and clung to after Lincoln left, because how could they be true if they were only dreams?

_But they weren't only dreams._ If the demons existed then so must good parents, like Costia's, like Clarke's. Her dreams had insisted that not all men were brutes. True friends were real, and priceless. Some people were worth dying for.

_And I will,_ she knew. Every life ended the same, dying for someone she couldn't lose.

A small, high sound called Lexa back to the present. Street lamps shone through the curtains, marking patterns on the wall above Costia's snoring form. Lexa rolled over. To her other side, Clarke lay trembling in her own sleeping bag, chest down and head to the side. Clarke gave a broken moan, and Lexa knew in her bones what that sound meant. 

She lightly stroked Clarke's shoulder through the sleeping bag, whispering "You're safe, Clarke. You're dreaming. I promise you're safe. Wake up..." 

It wasn't enough. Clarke was caught in the dream. Lexa tucked her silky golden hair behind her ear, very gently brushed her cheek...

_...a hand gripped the back of her neck, mashing her cheek to the dirt in time with his grunts. All she wanted was for it to stop, for an end, for them to..._

Lexa jerked away, sensing a desperate _pull_ at her mind. She was the rope tossed to the drowning swimmer in a storm. Clarke's eyes snapped open in panic and anguish, irises blazing like moonlight. Lexa rolled close and gathered her into her arms, sleeping bag and all, holding her securely as quiet, moaning sobs wracked Clarke's frame. 

_It's over,_ Lexa tried to say, _You were dreaming. _"You're safe." _You're not alone. That wasn't you. You've got your life back. _"You're safe." _I swear I won't let that happen, not ever._ "Clarke, you're safe." 

Gradually, Clarke's breathe evened out. Her pulse slowed from its hummingbird flutter. But she didn't stop shaking, so Lexa didn't loosen her hold. 

Eventually, she calmed enough to nod against Lexa's neck, and they lay on their sides facing each other. Clarke huddled into her bag. Her irises were less luminous now, more glow-in-the-dark rings than gleaming night lights.

"You okay now?" Lexa whispered.

Clarke nodded and let out a tremulous breath. Her eyes closed for a moment, then jolted open to fix on Lexa's face.

"I'm not going anywhere, Clarke." 

_Thank you,_ said her friend, less than a whisper. Her breath shivered out. 

"You're welcome. You know your eyes are glowing?"

"It... it happens when I get emotional at night." Again Clarke's eyelids slowly drooped shut, then fluttered, sharp worry pulsing out from her.

"Shhh..." Lexa sighed, clasping Clarke's upper arm, coasting her hand up and down, "You're safe," _with me, you're safe._

_I know._ Clarke let out a great sigh. Everything about her, her body and the presence in Lexa's head, relaxed. Her eyes stayed shut.

"Your eyes only glow at night?" Lexa pushed, still stroking.

"Mm-hmm. In the daytime I'm just a girl."

"Clarke, you'll never be 'just a girl'." 

_I wish I could be,_ came a sleepily sigh, then more distinctly "_Gódha nótt, Mín Vördhr_."

By the time Lexa figured out the first part, Clarke's breath had evened into quiet sleep. "Good night, fierce griffin, sweet dreams," she said, and lay there, watching over her, until sleep returned for her as well. 

Her lids drifted low, then shut.

_Then fluttered at a rumble of thunder. The air tasted of damp soil and of smoke. Their campfire still seethed, ashes smoldering, trace heat on her face. Wearily, she allowed herself to wake. The view from their furs had barely changed. Water still dribbled from above the cave's mouth. Rain still poured over the forest from leaden clouds. They'd go nowhere today without her risking another bout of damp-lung and fever. Once, escaping the castle dungeon though those blasted river tunnels, half-frozen after being beaten near to death, had been enough. Besides, after a week of rain the hounds had surely lost their trail. The soldiers might guess them dead from exposure, if not eaten by wolves. The king knew better, of course, but he'd need time to recruit a huntsman of exceptional skill, one capable of tracking them. Unless... _

_She felt a stirring in her mind, both outside and a part of her, sleepy thoughts, projecting that constant moonlight of affection. Affection, and the slightest rasp of irritation. The arms encircling her waist tightened. Bare, soft skin shifted against her back and thighs. Warm breath sighed at the nape of her neck, wet lips touched her spine with a kiss, and she shivered._

Please stop worrying. _The voice was a whisper within her skin. _We're out of my father's reach. Now no one will take me from you.

_She clasped a slender hand, let their fingers tangle and tease each other. Her own hands felt calloused, rough and heavy to her love's touch, and for a moment she indulged the sensation of having smooth, slender fingers, a softer body, a frame unhardened by the rigors of being a blacksmith's daughter. She lifted that hand, kissing knuckles, then palm, sending _You got me out of there.

_Another brush of lips to her neck, _I do what I must._ Her love's free hand glided up her side as if counting new kinks in her ribs. _He hurt you.

No, Klarke, that's- _She rolled over, furs tickling over her chest and thighs, to see her love's golden braids, her ice blue eyes, this Rus princess in a conquered land. Klarke moved with her, each reacting and adjusting as their legs tangled, pressing close from hips to shoulders. One of them gasped, sensations rippling, building to waves that rocked between them, and the other let their foreheads bump, noses brushing. Too close to focus, their eyes remained locked. _You gave up everything for me, Klarke. Your family, your home, your titles, everything you could have had.

_With the faintest shake of her head, Klarke sighed. _It hurts, yes. It hurts to know that I will not see my brothers again. It hurts that Father forced me to choose. But Lyrah, we have THIS, between us, this miracle. 

_A pressure built in her chest, deeper than her lungs or beating heart, rising like fierce laughter, like bright joy. Lyrah pressed even closer, lips parting, tasting, agreeing, _We do. We have our miracle.

_They loved each other for a time, until their predicament surfaced again in Klarke's thoughts. Lyrah felt the pinch that crinkled her love's brow as she asked, _Can you really feel her grave?

Timing, my love, _chided Lyrah, then made the attempt. Calming her body took time, their bond tickling as she let it drift to the back of her thoughts. Klarke projected the hiss of raindrops, a gentle breeze across her skin, and perfect trust that she could do this. Lyrah recalled a stretch of forest from her near-death vision in the dungeon, a quiet whisper on the wind, and a ghost with eyes of night. She sensed a faint shift of gravity, as of water meandering down a shallow slope, toward the ashes of a pyre that had burned with crimson flames. Lyrah lifted one hand from their furs, kept her eyes shut as she pointed, and replied, _That way. 

It's that easy? 

_Grinning now, Lyrah rolled them, straddling her hips, and bent for a kiss. Then she whispered aloud, ~Believe it, Klarke. Ninevah's spirit invited us. We are going Home.~_

_Klarke kissed her breathless._

~ * ~

Gray daylight bathed the room as Lexa groaned, reluctantly waking. The wind continued to blow, though less than last night. Costia's bed was empty. Clarke was a lump within her sleeping bag, breath shallow and even. Her presence made a soothing hum.

Quietly Lexa pulled on yesterday's frayed jeans, then traded her sleep shirt for a fresh tank top and a gray hoodie. Clarke never stirred, only sighed when Lexa knelt to stroke her shoulder. So she sat beside her, cross-legged and reflective, frowning at the sour flavor of her own morning breath. She hadn't questioned that glimpse of Clarke's nightmare. She'd simply reacted. The whole episode felt surreal, despite the soft hum of Clarke's nearness. Or perhaps because of it. "We are a pair, aren't we?"

Then Clarke hummed, a happy sound, an oddly familiar sound, and Lexa froze. 

Cold washed though her in a wave. _Clarke. _Her breath hitched, catching with something like a sob. _Klarke_. Her vision began to blur as she recalled a campfire in a cave, their view of rain in a verdant forest. Nothing, though, had ever compared to those fingertip caresses, to the echo of stroking her own skin though another's senses_._ _Lyrah & Klarke._ She'd never felt so whole. _We were part of each other._ Lexa blinked, felt something tickle over her cheek and flicked it away. Her limbs felt shaky.

_Klarke,_ she thought, throat gone dry, and wiped at her eyes until she could see again. Clarke slept on, oblivious, true to Costia's prediction that the beautiful blonde would sleep late whenever allowed. Her features weren't quite a match to Klarke's, she noted. _Or are they?_ Klarke's face had been fiercer, war paint streaked across her eyes, hair in braids laced by ribbons. But their features... Through her tears she wasn't sure. Already, the details had begun to leach away, a sculpture of ice melting in her hands. Her heart hurt with the loss. 

_I have to hold onto this._

On wobbly legs Lexa got to her feet and staggered to the bathroom. There, she did her best to calm down, to relive and memorize all that she could hold on to from Lyrah's life. So much of it felt important, even beyond who Klarke and Lyrah had been. All of it felt ancient. Klarke had been Kievan Rus, although she'd been born further west than Russia proper. Future Poland or Slovakia. There'd been a grave, Ninevah's grave -- _So she's dead?_ \-- and their 'home' had been near it. _Although neither of them had actually been there._ Lyrah had gotten all that from some kind of vision during a beating.

By the time Lexa had washed her face and brushed her teeth, she felt almost herself again, and hungry. Costia would read her instantly, she knew, but it'd be okay. _That isn't this life. I'm not Lyrah, just like I'm not Maya or Anya._ She repeated the thought as she padded downstairs to find her girlfriend. Scents wafting up the stairwell made her stomach grumble to be filled.

She found Mrs. Sinclair fully dressed and reading a newspaper in the living room. "Help yourself to coffee-cake," she told Lexa. "It's in the oven. And there's fruit in the refrigerator. We can make an omelet, too, once Clarke's up."

Costia bounced at the dining table in glasses and pajamas, steam wafting up from a cow-themed mug between her hands. At a breath the drink smelled like coffee and chocolate. Cartoons played on a little TV/DVD unit at the back of the kitchen/dining room divider. Morwen dozed on the floor, enjoying an absent-minded backrub under Costia's hippo slippers. "Snowy morning," she announced.

"Yeah," Lexa agreed, glancing out at several inches of snow, then leaned in for a kiss. Costia met her halfway, nuzzling nose to nose. Laughing, Lexa tried her best to push away the pang in her heart. This wasn't a dream. She had no right to miss the sensations of linked senses. No right to miss part of her being part of someone else.

As Costia sat again, Morwen licked Lexa's hand. She knelt for a hug and scratched behind both ears. The dog grunted in contentment.

"I swear you're her new favorite person."

Lexa looked up from Morwen's happy-dog grin, abruptly recalling a similar comment from Adelais' sister Marie, as they tended a pregnant goat. Lyrah hadn't actually been concerned about wolves, either. _Animals always like me._ "What about Clarke?"

"Well Clarke's _Clarke_. If I were a dog I'd wanna cuddle up in her lap too." She paused at Lexa's widening grin. "Um, pretend I never said that. Anyways, Morwen's known Clarke since she was a puppy -- Morwen I mean, not Clarke, 'cause obviously Clarke was never a puppy. Don't laugh at me, caffeine hasn't kicked in."

She laughed anyway. "Where's your dad?"

"He got called in early 'cause of some accidents." Costia nudged up her glasses. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I, we..." _She knows about Clarke._ "Clarke had a nightmare."

Costia's eyes widened, "Oh Light, and I slept through it. I'm a horrible friend!"

"Bull. You're the best friend I've ever had and I'm sure Clarke would agree." 

"Really?" Costia preened.

"Yes, really."

The blonde's elation shifted to puzzlement, "But... Clarke didn't keep you awake all night, did she?"

Lexa shook her head. "I woke her up, gave her a hug, and she went back to sleep."

"Oh. Was it not a bad one?" 

"It-" _If rape in the dirt isn't a bad one..._ "It seemed pretty awful to me." 

"And she just went back to sleep? No more bad dreams after?"

Lexa nodded. "Quiet night after that. At least..."

"Wait, what, you too?" Costia's brows rose in an anxious peak. "But, I-"

"Cos, no, no. Mine were just- vivid. Not bad. It's part of being me. Or us, I guess."

"Wow. You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Lexa clasped her hand, felt her heart turn over at the weird lack of sensory echo, and eyed the TV. "What have you got on?"

"Classic Loony Toons."

"Cool." Lexa sat beside her to watch, content to let the silly characters and Costia's light heart draw her from herself. Together they giggled as Elmer Fudd danced madly, furious as Jilly Barnburner zoomed around the farm in her biplane. Twice, the ace stunt duck whizzed straight through the barn. Jilly reminded Lexa of Raven, in a silly odd way, brilliant and wild. The third time, when the barn caught fire, Lexa laughed again. It was funny. Funny, right up until the horse kicked open his stall and raced around, first in blind panic, then breaking in doors to rescue the other animals. Lexa gulped, no longer laughing. 

"Lexa?"

She shut her eyes and watched the flames roar, knowing all the while that every beast had died. Every creature had died even before the flames. The horses must have simply collapsed. They must have died without a sound, souls snuffed out by demonic magick. Every beast had died while she slept.

The wacky voices cut off with a click. "Lexa, you look really pale."

Lexa tried to nod. Instead, her hands shook. They felt clammy, rubbing over her thighs. She curled them to fists, wrapped her arms around her middle. Her throat worked convulsively. And still, that barn lit up the dark in her mind's eye. Shouting echoed in her memory; of Kurt, of the men who'd aided him with a bucket line to the well. But in vain. The quiet of those roaring flames haunted her, the deathly calm within that barn. Nothing but ashes had seen the dawn.

"Can I hug you?"

This time, Lexa felt her chin dip. Costia rubbed her shoulders, even pressure as one might touch a skittish horse, announcing _I'm here, this is me,_ before she moved closer with hands gliding across Lexa's spine. Costia's chest pressed her arms, warm, alive, frizzy hair brushing her nose, and Lexa let herself sag into her embrace.

"Not the worst dreams," Costia sighed across her ear, "But not the best, either."

"Yeah," croaked Lexa, becoming aware that the thrum inside her had shifted up a note, that Clarke had woken to her turmoil.

A moment later Clarke's voice asked, "Can I help?" from the direction of the stairs. Too close, and a thousand times too far. Lexa felt her approach, could have pointed even without the sound of footsteps. She couldn't make herself open her eyes. To see Clarke's would only make it worse. "Cos, let me help."

Lexa shivered. Costia's arms pulled her closer, cradling her so that with every breath Lexa inhaled her scent. Clarke was more than a scent. She resonated. Her presence sang in Lexa's bones. 

"It was something about the barn on fire, I think." Costia's hold loosened, though she kept up the back rub. Lexa clenched her eyes, kept her face to her girlfriend's neck. 

"Mmm," hummed Clarke, just as in the second dream. "Let me." A hand touched her tricep, coasted down her arm as Costia shifted to one side. Lexa trembled, guessing, but she couldn't see an escape. Couldn't even make herself want it. "Lexa," Clarke murmured, "Lexa." 

Then Clarke's hand slid over hers, cool as moonlight, gliding over her knuckles to her calloused fingers. The touch spread ripples in the energy between them, faint echoes that did little more than suggest Clarke's fine sense of touch, or the relative solidity of her own bones. It wasn't like the dream. This was only a fraction of that. But it felt real. _I can feel your hands feeling mine._

Lexa sobbed once, managed a single even breath, then shattered.

And for the life of her, she couldn't have said why she wept.


	24. Savage Plans

Lexa pulled herself back together by degrees. Costia held her, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades, murmuring solace in her ears. Trembling, Lexa inhaled scents of strawberries and clean Light, scents of redemption. _Costia, you should let me go._ The other girl never would, some deep part of her knew. _You'll choose me, you always choose me._ Despairing, Lexa hid her face against her girlfriend's neck, unable to voice the words. _You'll choose me until it kills you._ Still, Costia wrapped her arms across Lexa's spine, whispered love across her ears and held her close.

_I love you, too, Costia._ But merely to think such a thing doomed her. Audra would know. Somehow, the demoness and her pack always knew. They'd go after Costia to force her surrender. As they had with her Others. _Unless Clarke and I give them a reason to leave us alone. Somehow._ Costia hugged her tightly. 

Clarke's concern helped, and hurt. Her touch burned. The strange thrum of her presence made a pressure in Lexa's chest, in her thoughts. Familiarity echoed in every caress across Lexa's skin, an odd sort of déjà vu that made her own fingertips tingle as Clarke stroked gently over her sweatshirt. Lexa twitched under those kind hands. Her body couldn't decide whether to flee or to cling. Those warring urges held her rigid.

Clarke seemed to understand. After one last, angelic caress across Lexa's shoulder, Clarke withdrew. "We should eat," she announced, "before it all gets cold." Pretending as if nothing was wrong, she called Costia's mother into the kitchen. Together, they fixed an omelet. Clark pretended to ignore them, bustling from fridge to cabinets to dining table, setting four places. Though Jessica Sinclair glanced often over her shoulder, at her daughter cradling Lexa in a fierce embrace, she said nothing that questioned their relationship. 

"Told you," whispered Costia, then chuckled softly as Lexa shook against her neck. "I love you, kay?" Her arms clenched across Lexa's back, "All of us love you."

Lexa licked her lips, sighing "I love you too, Cos." Because to deny that truth wouldn't save either of them. In reward Costia bestowed butterfly kisses across the side of her face, grinning until Lexa did, too. 

~ * ~

By the time Lexa returned to her own house, to her own bed, her thoughts had catalyzed around a single resolution, _My life for theirs,_ and a single question to avoid that need, _How do I make a bunch of sociopathic monsters leave us alone?_ It plagued her sleep, bringing worry-dreams of Costia abducted or hurt, of attacks on the Griffin family, or even harm to Murphy or Wells. She woke with sweat-slicked skin and a pounding heart, showered and dressed. With a clear mind she felt grateful that none of those visions had happened, terrified that one might. She marched to school more determined than ever to come up with some plan.

As her teachers droned about equations, about history or volleyball rules or Latin root words, Lexa did her best to work with motives. Guess those and they had a chance. She began what she felt sure of. The demons valued their own survival. They wanted her dead, probably because they saw her as a potential threat. They also valued secrecy. Otherwise somebody would have long since exposed them. 

_Great._ That all boiled down to self-interest. She'd have to make coming to Terminus seem to be a bigger risk than leaving Clarke and her alone. Without a way to contact them, she'd have to wait for the monsters to come to her, then stall them long enough to negotiate. Slip up at any step and they'd attack. 

A trap might work, except the only bait she had was herself. _I'll get exactly one chance... to do what? Threaten to shoot them if they don't listen? _Dangerous to try, even if Eliza Lex came back to play cavalry. Calling Agent Kane would bring the FBI, but also put her life under a microscope; then enter the military labcoats. Better not to rely on outside help. She refused to put Clarke, Costia, or their families at risk. That left Lincoln and maybe Murphy or Wells as the only shooters on her side. They weren't enough. 

All right then, she'd need a bargaining chip besides her own life. That meant something the demons either wanted or feared. Such as...?

Lexa came up dry, exactly as her predecessors must have, or she wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. And really, that was the root of her problem. To survive she'd have to do something none of her prior incarnations had thought of. A plan that the demons -- Audra, especially -- would never expect. Something decisive, audacious, even a bit insane.

Time to talk to Raven. 

* * *

She begged off a lunch at the Griffin house, explaining "I'm pretty sure it's burritos for me today."

Wells blinked in confusion. Clarke made a sour expression. Costia asked "Why?"

"I need to borrow Raven's paranoid mastermind brain."

"Oh. It's about _stuff_."

"And things," Lexa agreed, gently cupping Costia's cheek, fingers sliding into her windblown hair. "Stuff and things, and monsters." Autumn eyes gazed back at her, worried, trusting. "It's okay, Cos. I'm sure Raven can outsmart me."

"You're goofy." Costia darted in, licked the tip of her nose, then as Lexa giggled, she gave her a proper kiss, too. "Tell the Murph-turtle I said hello."

"You're all insane," Wells grumbled as Lexa grinned. "It's the estrogen. It's gotta be the estrogen."

"It makes us smarter," Clarke poked his side, "and you're jealous."

"Damn right." Then to Lexa, "What's Raven gonna figure out that we can't?"

"I don't know, but if anyone can set a trap for aliens, it's Raven."

"Wait, aliens? Now there are aliens? Why am I always the last to know?"

"Go on," Clarke spoke over him. "You've got our blessing." She and Costia led Wells away with a promise to explain over lunch.

_Well, that takes care of that. _

Lexa surveyed the gym's parking lot. Murphy's First Sun wasn't where it had been before P.E. Neither was Atom's pickup. The Burrito Grande was four blocks south, and if she guessed wrong, then Sparky's Garage was a bit further in the same direction. She set off at a jog.

Both vehicles were parked side by side in the Grande lot. Her friends had claimed two corner tables, she noted. Raven wore a witch's black hat, complement to Paul's purple wizard's cloak. Murphy & Emory wore matching basketball jerseys. Atom looked the part of a cowboy, although in his case that might not have anything to do with Halloween being tonight. Beside him sat Octavia in her blue & white cheerleading outfit. 

As she entered, Paul looked up and nudged Raven, who announced "The Amazon Queen returns!" then after a beat, "Where's Gabrielle?"

Lexa felt her brows crease as she detoured around the order kiosk. "Who's Gabrielle?" But Paul just chuckled, so she decided it had to be some inside joke.

"Nevermind," Raven relented. "You two'll be at the party, right?"

"Party?" She looked to Murphy, "What party?"

"Fuck," he muttered, "The one I thought I told you about." Then, at others' looks, "Must'a slipped my mind." His eyes flicked to Emori, back to Raven. "So what? Now she knows."

"No I don't," said Lexa. "Where? When? Who's hosting?"

"I am," Atom spoke up, though Octavia went dead white at Lexa's attention on the two of them. "Out at my house, Saturday. It's a Halloween bash so wear a damn costume. And everybody brings a drink, a dish, or a log."

"A log?"

"For a bonfire."

Murphy filled in "We get fire, booze, or eat ourselves silly. Fingers crossed for all three."

"Riiight..." Lexa snickered. "Emori gets you drunk, sets you on fire, and eats you."

That got a laugh. Murphy retorted, "I'm hoping for two out of three."

Emori's grin was predatory. "I get you drunk and set you on fire?"

"Woman, you'll be the death of me."

"I can live with that."

"Ignore the turtle," Raven said, "Go get some grub and sit your ass down. Clearly we missed you." 

"Same," Lexa returned, grinning in spite of herself. She ordered, then picked a chair between Raven and Atom, amused to see Octavia try to hide under Atom's muscular arm. "Octavia, relax," she told her. "You've changed and I've noticed. If anyone gives you trouble for it, say so. I will help."

Octavia shivered and let out an incredulous breath. 

Atom kissed her temple, murmuring "See?" She melted into his side. Then to Lexa, he added, "She may take you up on that offer. The squad's kinda disowned her."

Lexa frowned, attempting to recall the last time she'd caught the Queen Bees conspiring. They hadn't bugged her or Costia or Clarke last week. She'd assumed that was fear, though a split in the ranks would explain why she hadn't overheard them gossiping, either. "O, do you know what Ontari's planning next?"

"They won't tell me," Octavia said darkly, launching into a bitter rant about Ontari and several others for turning on her in a thousand petty ways. 

Scoffing, Lexa mostly tuned her out. Volunteering to help didn't mean she liked the girl, and being on the outside for a while just might teach her some empathy. 

When her lunch arrived Lexa dug in, listening, bantering with the others while second-guessing the audacity of her own plan. The scenario she'd put together might give away too much. It might be the crookedest leap she'd made in this life. Her opportunity came at Murphy's invitation.

"What's on your mind, Lex?"

"It's crazy."

"Hell yeah, let's hear it."

And just like that, all eyes were on her. 

"I've... I've got a question," Lexa said, looking first to Raven, "Or maybe more of a thought experiment." She glanced to Octavia, who became suddenly fascinated by the shell of her taco salad. "Like Mr. Wallace gives us in physics, but with aliens instead of math."

Raven grinned. Emori quipped, "Right, that way the Turtle and Atom won't get nightmares."

"I am a _ninja_ turtle," huffed Murphy.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

"Whatever," Atom waved them off, "calc is _scary_. That's why I picked poli-sci. 'Cept I'm pretty sure Lexa isn't talking about South American refugees."

"Nope," she laughed, and pressed on, "I was thinking Evil Hybrid Grays, because why not? Let's say you find out about them. Like, you witness a fight where one of them uses super strength or shrugs off bullets. You escape, but it saw you. You can bet it will track you, and it'll have help. What do you do?"

"Hmm," Raven purred, "neat."

"Run like hell and don't look back," said Atom.

Paul gave him a pitying look, "Then they go after your girlfriend."

He tightened his arm around Octavia, "Take her with me."

"Then she's as big a target as you are," Raven noted. "They could go after your friends instead."

"Right," added Murphy. "Could be anal probes to find out where you are."

Emori patted his back. "You're a tough ninja turtle. I'm sure your ass could take it."

"Nope, no thanks, not going there. Exit only."

Octavia gave them both a disgusted look.

"Fine," Atom said, "We run and the Turtle gets anal probed. Works for us."

"Maybe Em and I run and _you_ get probed."

"You guys are so doomed," Raven laughed. "If you all run, the circle widens. A big group just begs to get caught."

Atom threw up his hands in defeat. "Then what do _you_ suggest, miss Wicked Witch of the North?"

"The North and South Witches were good," Octavia stage-whispered. "East and West were wicked."

"Says who?"

"Frank Baum, guy who wrote 'Wizard of Oz'?"

"You read that?"

"No way," Octavia scoffed. "It's on the movie credits."

"_Anyway,_ back to Xena's brain teaser." Raven faced Lexa, "The only way to survive is use what you know. One, they want _you_, personally. Two, it's just a matter of time until they come for you." Paul began humming the 'Cops' TV theme, only to grunt at an elbow to the ribs. "So then you're _bait_."

"Sure," Lexa agreed, "but what's the trap? You don't know the big picture, so the best case is you leave a bomb and kill one or two -- or just human goons -- before they catch you."

"Nah, way better. What's a psychopath afraid of?"

"Dying."

Murphy guessed "Jail?"

Sagely, Paul intoned, "Baaad press."

Raven chuckled. "You're all missing the beer for the keg." She paused dramatically. "_Loss of freedom_, any freedom."

"How does that apply to being bait?" Lexa asked.

"There are traps, and then there are _traps_. It doesn't _need_ to have bars or bombs. _Cameras_ are just as good."

Murphy observed, "Not if the mooks burn down your house as soon as they see one."

"Oh, my simple deluded friend," Raven crooned, "surveillance systems can be tiny and hidden and wirelessly upload to the Internet where nobody -- or _everybody_ \-- will know." 

Murphy scowled. Lexa's mind raced. Modern technology changed everything.

Raven drained her soda, then explained, "You set up a dead-man protocol and have a bunch of friends watch remotely. Roll cameras while you meet. Cap it with some should-be-lethal weapons or traps to prove they aren't human. Either they leave you alone or the whole world sees their ugly alien mugs. While they regroup you hunt the bastards, catch one, and go full Spanish Inquisition until he spills their secrets and reveals where the superbrains are. Then you nuke 'em with extreme prejudice."

Everyone else cracked up. Lexa snorted, then asked "What about survivors? They'd hate you more than ever."

"Bastards'll have worse problems, like Big Brother's urgent need for lab specimens." Raven's calculating eyes were a mismatch to her jovial tone. She'd guessed part of the truth, as Lexa'd expected that she would. "But you're right, you'd have to lay low or keep moving until shit blows over. Tell friends to put in über security systems, use tracking and voice recorder apps on phones, etcetera and so on. Have everyone use burners and web mail to stay in touch."

And there it was, in Raven's subtext, crushing the breath from her lungs. _I'll have to leave. I'll be on the run until it's over._ Goddess only knew how long that would be, how terrible when she inevitably made a mistake, as Yahna had. A girl tortured and parts tossed in a fire, and her too far away to plead, _Let her go, take me instead._

Raven bumped her elbow, eyes like scalpels, and with a jolt Lexa pulled herself together. Paul was lecturing about spy-resistant webmail use, quickly sidetracking the conversation to secret communications methods. Lexa paid attention, later attempting to write down everything during Physics. When the time came, she'd share with Costia, Clarke, and Wells.

~ * ~

Over spaghetti she relayed Raven's trap and camera suggestions to Lincoln, along with the fake identities that Raven & Paul had created. She didn't mention what would follow.

"Good ideas," Lincoln said when she finished. "I'll take care of the hardware." He set his fork down and linked his fingers. "Ron Sinclair stopped by the shop."

_Costia's dad went to Lincoln? _"Why?"

"To talk. He said he likes to get a feel for people, doubly so where his family's concerned. He's already met Mom -- some brawl at the Longhorn -- and wanted to meet me."

"Okay..." Lexa twisted her fork on her plate, building a ball of noodles. _Does he know? Is this where I lose my brother, again?_

"Hm," Lincoln grunted, "I know that look."

"What look?"

"Bracing yourself."

"Linc," she warned.

"I know. Alright? I know about you and Costia. All I have to ask is this: Are you good to each other?"

"What?" _That's all?_ "Of course. Is that what her father asked?"

"Nah, he's already made up his mind about you. If you're good for her, that's enough for him."

_But there are monsters hunting me._ She clenched her fists, bracing herself all the same. "That's it? That's all? You're not going to call me disgusting for falling in love with a girl?"

"No." He shook his head vehemently. "Never. I'm not Dad. I will _never_ be like him. All I care about is that you're both happy." The steel in his voice made her wonder at his reasons.

"We _are_," she growled. 

"Peace," he said, raising his hands, palms out. "Peace, Lex."

She willed herself to calm down. "Then why did Costia's father go to you, Linc?"

"To check me out. If he takes you under wing, where does that lead? I'm pretty sure he knows that- you know. Whatever Eliza Shadow Eyes saw in you and Clarke Griffin, he suspects. About both of you. He's asking the same questions I have."

_That you have…?_ Of course Lincoln had asked questions. Of course he'd kept track of her contacts. And Ron _had_ said he'd look out for her. "That's..." _more than I ever hoped,_ "nice to hear. But, Linc, what about the weird stuff?"

"He mentioned their dog taking an instant liking to you. I told him you've always made friends with animals everywhere we've lived."

She nodded toward the corral outside, "The horses, too."

"I noticed. Anyway, Ron says, 'Animals sense things we miss', and I told him that's definitely true with you. They know that you're _good_." Lincoln hesitated. "Do you remember the deer when you were three?"

She shook her head, suddenly uneasy. "What deer?"

"It happened when we lived in Bend, in Oregon, that place with the under-sink cabinet that always smelled like something died? Big back yard and nothing but scrub brush past the fence?"

The latter evoked a fuzzy memory of trying to mash dry snow into snowballs, the scent of sage on the perpetual wind. Closing her eyes, she heard a deep but light-hearted voice explaining something, her father's voice when the only name she'd known for him had been 'Daddy'. Her knees started to bounce. "I don't remember deer." 

"Mule deer used to eat Mom's shrubs. If we saw them we'd go out and yell at them to scare them away. I guess that must've looked like fun, so one morning you ran outside to try for yourself."

Lexa grinned. That sounded like her. "Bet I was terrifying."

"As a kitten," Lincoln said dryly. "The deer weren't impressed; they just went on grazing. Then you tried to hug one. And it let you."

For an instant she looked into one huge, brown eye, felt coarse fur and a solid neck under her hands. A quiet joy had filled her heart. The doe loved her. Another flash, looking into a forest of tawny legs, and a long tongue slimed her face and hair. "It licked me?"

"One of them did. They all gathered around you, like... I don't know, like they knew you were different. Then I guess Titus saw what I was looking at. He went bolting out the door, shouting and waving his arms." Lincoln shook his head, "That's when it got really strange. The whole herd closed ranks around you. The adults did that upright stance and pawed the dirt like they might attack, but Titus slipped and sat down hard, and that shut him up. I guess they decided he wasn't a threat, or they responded to you, or something, because then herd scattered and you ran to him, as excited and happy as I've ever seen you."

Lexa felt her pulse jump. Cold sweat tickled her skin. She didn't need to consciously remember the event to know that fear and confusion had set off Titus's temper. Too young to understand, she'd have cowered until he stopped yelling. She set her fork aside, no longer hungry. 

"Just stop there," she said. "I know why I don't remember." _Stuff like that was why Titus started to hate me. I scared him._ She tensed, "You didn't tell Mr. Sinclair, did you?"

"Seemed like the kind of story you wouldn't want me sharing, so no."

She blew out a sigh. "Good."

"But," her brother returned, "with what I've gathered about Clarke, and her being Costia's best friend, I doubt he'd have been surprised. In fact, I think he'd help if we let him."

"We can't let him," she instantly responded, fingers curling to fists at the thought of Mr. Sinclair doing something brave to help, and dying for it. Costia would lose her father. Better justifications came a moment later. "He's a cop. Mr. Sinclair has to put the town's safety first. I'm planning to lure a bunch of monsters here to blackmail. I can't risk him deciding against us, and right now the fewer who know, the safer we are."

Lincoln considered her, then "What about your friends?"

This much, Clarke and she had already decided. "How do you feel about meeting them on Saturday?" She told him about the party.

With a sly look in his eyes, Lincoln offered to play chauffer and chaperone. "You look out for your people, I look out for you."

"Deal," Lexa agreed.

~ * ~

In the morning Lexa woke thinking that the time had come to test the email address that Eliza Lex had given them. _What do you think the demons are?_ she typed._ What do they want? What powers do they have? _She debated listing what she'd witnessed in dreams, but didn't. Not yet. Instead, she laid out the basics of Raven's plan. _I don't know when or if it'll work, but I have to try. _She summarized what had happened with Agent Kane, including his contact info. Calling him to bring in the FBI should be a last resort. _Any suggestions? Will you help?_ She signed it with her name and added her cell number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I ask: What would you do? What might they be missing?

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and feedback are food for the muses, y'all. Tap that heart button and/or write 'Next chapter, please!' And thus there will be more. (insert solemn bow)


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